Beyond Enduring
by DarkNesse2016
Summary: In the immediate aftermath of the war with Voldemort, Harry tries to revive Snape, to stopper death. But if he is successful, what lies beyond for the Potions Master, except more pain and remorse?
1. Chapter 1: Crossing Over

The Other Side

As he lay, life draining away through the holes in his neck, Severus Snape took an inventory of his life, his boyhood memories, now given over to Harry; his time as a Death Eater still giving him pains in his soul; Dumbledore's offer of rescue and the punishing penance that resulted over the course of time; the duty to Lily's son fulfilled; and now the end. Here, with the boy, looking at him now with a concern and understanding he'd never seen before now. Already mourning, if not for him, then at least for a link to his parents. But he was ready, ready to go to the Other World. This world was nothing but pain to him since his earliest days, what enjoyment he had mostly at the expense of others, all part of the game, all part of the endless maneuvering during every waking moment, at first to gain favor with the Dark Lord, and then to defeat him. His mission was now complete. This world had no place for him now; his one true love long dead, his champion gone by his own hands, his role in protecting and training Harry at an end. He let himself wish for death, as he had many times before. Mostly he had wished for an end to pain, guilt, and anguish, but not life itself. But these things were inseparable, and now he was a willing traveler, used up, broken. Perhaps there really was an Other World, perhaps there was another ending, one with some measure of happiness, trust, safety. He would know soon enough.

Harry had returned and now knelt beside the Potions Master, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, the Headmaster, the childhood friend of his mother; the man who'd first shown her how special she was and set her on the path both to a magical life and an early death. Every fiber of his body screamed "no," but the blood continued. Harry muttered every charm, every spell, every incantation he knew, to no obvious effect, as he tried to staunch the flow of blood with a ripped piece from his shirt. Snape, always pale, grew dusky and grey, beginning to mutter incoherently. Harry looked around in a panic; there MUST be a way, must be something he could do. Knowing what he knew now, he pushed aside as much panic as possible, clearing his mind, trying to remember his Occlumency lessons, to allow some sense of possibility to enter. He hoped fervently that someone else would soon arrive, someone with better magic, better potions, to revive this man, surely the bravest man he'd ever known. Facing down the Dark Lord, hiding his true self with long-practiced skill, keeping those who might inadvertently reveal his secrets uncertain to the end. This was the end. Now.

Harry heard no footsteps, no calls, no help on the way. Desperate, he began to sort through the rubble nearby, tossing aside parchments, stones, broken wood. He heard a crunch as he stepped over Snape's cloak, the sound of smashing glass. Inspiration grabbed him, and he began to turn out all of the many pockets in the Potion Master's cloak, jacket, and trousers. There were many vials hidden away, some smashed, others still containing Merlin knew what. Harry quickly gathered them together and took stock of what he had to work with.

Wracking his brain, Harry tried with difficulty to remember the properties of magical plants, herbs, and other substances. Dittany, asphodel, wormwood, foxglove, henbane, deadly nightshade. Which would revive, which would kill? Hermione would know. Neville would know. Heck, every student at Hogwarts might know, even first- or second-years. Harry struggled to pull together what he knew. Years spent following instructions as carefully as possible without actually understanding the theory, allowing himself to be distracted by Quidditch strategies, Dumbledore's Army, his hatred of the professor, anything other than the fine art of Potions, now haunted him and he felt a searing pang of guilt at the agony of needing this skill, needing to stopper death, just now for this purpose.

The Headmaster slumped to one side, having apparently lost consciousness as the blood continued to seep through the bandage Harry had futilely applied to the poisonous wound. Harry knelt beside Snape, taking his face in his hands.

"Severus, don't leave me. Please, help me find the right potion. One last lesson…" There was a small shuttering in the dying man's eyes, and then nothing.

Harry felt as empty as he had ever felt. The loss of his parents, so long ago, was not easy, but the sharp edges of pain had dulled through the years, though they were still enough to give him the strength to fight and face fear. The memory of Sirius Black pained him, the loss of Dumbledore, Mad-Eye. Harry, at last, looked to the future. For so long, he'd waited for this moment, for the Rest of His Life to begin, the Dark Lord defeated. That future seemed emptier than he'd imagined it. For all his torment, for all his admonishment, for all the detentions, Harry knew that any life without finishing at Hogwarts, without Professor Snape, would be unthinkable. There was so much more he needed to know, so much he needed to tell. He could hear Snape's voice, cold and directed at him during a particularly poor preparation.

"Mr. Potter, if you plan on reviving someone, instead of killing them, I suggest you add asphodel, not wolfsbane, next." Harry had cringed at the time, considering the consequences of wolfsbane on those who were NOT werewolves.

Asphodel. He had that. Not in a potion, but at least as an ingredient. Harry sorted through the pile of bottles until he found the one labeled asphodel. It was full of dried leaves. Was that the potent part of the plant or the waste? Did it need to be distilled or just ground up? There was no time to prepare it and no time for questioning. It was all he had, all he knew, and hopefully unlikely to accelerate the job Nagini had started. Popping off the stopper and dropping it to the ground, Harry poured out the greenish-gray leaves into one hand and ground them to a powder. He forced open Snape's mouth with the other. His jaw gave no resistance and saliva began to ooze out. Harry turned his head upward and began to scrape the powder into Snape's mouth, pulling his tongue out slightly to get it further back. There was no water around, so Harry mopped up what spit he could manage, closed the Headmaster's mouth tightly and held it there.

Once he was sure that the bitter herb was as far down Snape's mouth as possible, Harry found his wand and uttered "Expecto Patronum." With his exhaustion, the Patronus was not as large and a powerful as sometimes, but the stag seemed strong enough for the purpose Harry needed now. "Get help," he said. "Anyone." His skills at their limit, he sat and waited, anxious for some sign that it was working, dreading the signs that it was not.

Severus Snape was dreaming. He had arrived at the far shore of a lake, floating on a small boat, rowed by a quartet of house elves. But these elves were dressed in long brown shifts, wore matching hats, and had clean hands. They smiled benignly at him, and gestured for him to exit on the shore, which he did with trepidation. The pain in his neck and shoulders was gone, but the dread was not. He heard movements in the dense, dark forest that bordered the lake on all sides, the sounds coming nearer. He instinctively reached for his wand and discovered it was not there. He knew it wasn't necessary, only helpful. Whatever needed to be done he could do without a wand. He stood solidly, listening, preparing for centaurs, giants, goblins, Death Eaters, or, worse still, Ministry officials. He was not prepared for what appeared.

Silver animals emerged first, lighting the darkness of the dense forest, then fading somewhat in the strong sunlight in the clearing on the shore. A phoenix, a stag, a doe, a dog, and a horse regarded him, then vanished in the breezes. With dawning realization, he was less surprised when the group of people emerged from the wood.

Albus Dumbledore led the small group, followed by Mad-Eye Moody, Sirius Black, James Potter, and Lily. There were others, but Snape took no notice. Despite the warmth in their faces, Severus regarded them with caution, knowing that he was most likely in delirium from blood-loss and snake venom. But the image was curious to him, so he allowed himself to remain, resisting the nearly overwhelming urge to turn his back and walk away as quickly as possible, to dive into the lake and never emerge from the waters, or to run to Lily and embrace her.

Dumbledore spoke first, the rest of the group remaining behind as he approached Snape, his hand extended in greeting.

"Severus, so good to see you," he said, grasping Snape's hand and pulling him into a warm embrace, which Snape did not return. "My most trusted and loyal friend." Snape remained stiff, arms at his side. Releasing him, Dumbledore stood back and gestured behind him. "This is the Other World and we have been waiting for you, some of us for a longer time than others, I might note. But we knew you'd be here only when the job was done. Your presence is most welcome, as it most assuredly heralds victory over the Dark Lord," said the old man, with a glint in his eye. "And I see Harry is not with you. It may be some time until we see him here, I'd warrant, though most likely from a Quidditch injury in old age, rather than from the doings of Voldemort." At this, Lily and James smiled.

Snape spoke evenly. "Thank you for your welcome, Headmaster. What is this place?"

Dumbledore gave a small chuckle. "From one Headmaster to another, I think you might call me Albus now."

Still stiff and unyielding, Snape repeated his questions. "Alright then, Albus. What is this place, Albus?"

Placing a fatherly hand on Snape's shoulder, Dumbledore turned and gestured to the forest. "This is where we reside after we pass from life, where we await others to join us. We greet the newcomers and reconcile our earthly differences."

As this, Snape snorted, looking meaningfully at Black and Potter. "We may be here a long time. Albus."

Dumbledore laughed, but none of the others joined him, instead remaining passive but alert observers. "You could be right, my good man, you could be right. So, then, let's begin. I think Mad-Eye should start."

Mad-Eye came forward at this beckoning, all of the suspicion in his eyes gone, replaced by respect and admiration. He extended his hand and shook Snape's forcefully, clapping the other man on the shoulder. "Never a better subterfuge, never! You were amazing. Never knew what you were up to until the end. I count myself amazed, and it goes without saying I'll never meet another Occlumens like you. Tried like the dickens for years to figure you out, never could. Seemed like you only thought of potions and teaching the whole time I've known you. That and giving detentions." Mad-Eye laughed at his own joke. Snape allowed himself to be congratulated uncomfortably. "Sorry for the endless suspicion, but I'm sure you understand," he said, releasing his captive.

"Of course," Snape said coolly. It spoke to a job well-done in his mind. He had always accepted Moody's suspicion of him as a positive sign, a credit to his skills of deception.

Next was Sirius's turn. No jovial backslapping here, but he did offer his hand. "What you've done, Severus, it will be remembered forever, written in the history books. I consider myself humbled to be here, humbled to at last be able to thank you for your service, despite the difficulties and personal risks. You are a giant among wizards, and I am the fool, indeed one of many fools, who underestimated you. My name will fade, but not yours. Well done. Perhaps here," he gestured to the forest, to the Other World, "I may one day be honored enough to have you call me 'friend.'" Though feeling a certain sense of catharsis, Snape only replied "Perhaps." Sirius gave a rueful smile and returned to the group.

James and Lily came forward next. James stood for quite a long time before speaking. "I am eternally in your debt, Severus. You did the job I failed to do, you protected Harry." His eyes misting over, he could say no more and stepped back, leaving only Lily.

She took his hand. "Severus, you were the first to show me the magic that was within me, the first to open the door to this world. Our falling out pained me more than you could ever know. By the time I was ready to forgive you, it was too late, or so I thought. I let you down, my first friend."

Snape spoke at last. "No, I let you down, I let everyone down. I chose the wrong side and we have all paid the price for the decision of a rash and intemperate boy. Surely you see that the only reason we needed to defeat the Dark Lord was his gaining power due to my own foolishness. What held him off was your power, Lily, the power of the love you gave to Harry." Snape trailed off, dropping Lily's hand and staring into the dark forest, still hoping to go there and be alone. Alone for a long time.

Dumbledore joined them. "Severus, my friend, the Dark Lord would have found a way, he was mad with the desire for power, a desire which would not rest. But what you've done since the day you came to me and renounced your past, this carries with it powerful magic of its own. For unrequited love, love that will never be returned, or may seem so, has power of its own." Rather than meeting Dumbledore's gaze, Snape shifted uncomfortably on his feet, looking at the grasses and roots where the trees met the glimmering water. "But I don't mean the love you have for Lily. I'm talking about Harry. And he still needs you, though not as he did before."

At Lily's name, Snape looked up sharply at the old man. "I've done all you asked, Dumbledore, seen him through to the end. The victory is complete and he is still living."

"Yes, still living, but still a boy, not yet a man. Still he needs guidance. The time is too late for us gathered here, but for you…. For you, there is still hope. There is more for you, Severus. A life freed from the burden you've carried so well and so long." At this, Snape gestured dismissively.

"I am ready to be free of life, Albus. You do me no favors to ask me to endure further. I've done all that you asked, given my best. That this life should be at an end is the only desirable outcome," Snape said, with no anger in his voice, only a steady acceptance.

Dumbledore held the man's gaze evenly, with the first signs of sadness in his wrinkled face. "How long you've suffered, Severus. But that suffering, that sacrifice will not go unrewarded. There is another epoch to your life, another phase."

Snape looked skeptical. "Why would it be me, Albus?r Why would all of you be trapped here and it is I should be sent back? All of you ached to come back and would have had more of a life to return to. I have no desire to return and would gladly defer to another and remain here, whatever this is," he said, gesturing to the lake and forest.

The ancient wizard shrugged in an infuriating way. "Like life, death is not fair. No one really knows, even over here. But the decision has been made by another more powerful than me. We come are here only to inform you." He held up a hand as Snape began to protest yet again. "The decision is not mine, nor is it your option to refuse. I am here only as the messenger. Now, consider your future, Severus. You have one. There are still those who need you."

"Name one."

"Harry." Snape let out a long breath. "Harry is still in need of a father figure, a godparent."

"I'd be last on his list of choices, I can assure you. I saw enough in our Occlumency training to know that my being in that role would be most unwelcome. And given all he knows now, I can only assume that this feeling is even more so. I'm sure he has some notion of the events the past, but he would surely want to begin the rest of his life with someone …untarnished."

"A great deal has happened recently, and hearts can change, as you know. However, if untarnished is what you think he needs, Severus, I can honor that," said Dumbledore, but the look in his eyes was not one of respectful resignation nor sadness, but one that hinted of humor somehow. "Sirius, James, Lily, Mad-Eye, will you join me?" he said, gesturing for the others to come forward. Snape quietly reached for his wand, and found nothing there still. "Severus, you don't belong here, not yet. You will be most welcome when it is your time, but that time is not now. You've taken on a greater challenge than any of us, for many years. Trust me now, as I have trusted you."

Snape had no intention of letting down his guard, but said "As you say, Albus. How does one get back? And where?"

"The trip back is the same as the one to get here, but first you must become 'untarnished,' as you put it. It is not a pleasant process, but necessary. We will all thank you for not casting Stunning spells. Also, this does not involve wands, so the Expelliarmus charm will be useless," he said, apparently reading the tall man's mind. The remaining four stepped forward and encircled Snape. "You need to be appropriately dressed for the journey."

Lily approached from behind and removed his cloak, shredded and dirty from battle, weighted with vials and bottles. She folded it with care, keeping the vials inside and placed it in the boat. Snape labored to control his breathing as Mad-Eye approached him. "Jacket's gotta go, friend." He started undoing the many buttons, then pulled the dark garment off, soiled and bloodied, also folding it and placing it in the boat.

Sirius gestured to Snape's pants ("Those, too, mate.") and allowed Snape to unfasten them himself. "And boots," Black said. Snape already felt naked and exposed, but stood resolutely, as James approached for the shirt. He unbuttoned the blood-drenched garment, which had begun the day as white. "Ready?" he asked. "As I am likely to be," said Snape derisively. "Alright then," said James, and carefully drew down the fabric. Snape then removed his undershirt with difficulty, the blood sticking the fabric to his skin.

Snape could not recall a time that these scars had ever seen the sun, but each of them now seemed to buzz with fury. Not only the fresh wounds on his neck, but also the Dark Mark on his arm, the scars on his back and arms, the wounds around his ankles, even the old breaks in his nose. He had thought they were well healed, but the vibrating energy he felt in them now told another story. Standing there, he resisted showing the pain that covered and filled his body and awaited the next step. Suddenly, all four were upon him, each grasping a limb, Lily and Mad-Eye an arm each, James and Sirius a leg. Though they had anticipated a struggle, Snape gave himself over to his fate. There was no use in arguing or resisting. Had he wanted to, he was certain he would have bested them, but he had given too much today in the fight against the Dark Lord and hoped not to need to fight again for some time. And what would he be fighting for now?

The four walked to the edge of the green waters, wading in to their knees. Dumbledore followed, leaning on his staff as his robes became sodden in the waves kicked up by the others.

"Severus, my friend, upon your return to the life you've known, allow yourself to open once more, for others to see the good in you, and to see the good in others. We will see you later. Live, my friend, in happiness and love. We can wait, we will be here for you when your time comes."

The four gave a mighty heave and pitched the thin pale man as far out as possible, surprised at his passivity. He gave no shouts, no struggle, but disappeared beneath the surface as though he were a stone.

The warmth of the water was perhaps the most surprising thing. Typically the lake was still chilly in May. The first part of fall was the warm time. Snape allowed the water to wash over him, looking up at the sun, allowing himself to sink, though he was an excellent swimmer. Perhaps drowning was as good an exit as any other, but he knew he would soon be overcome with the irresistible urge to surface and breathe. He turned in the water and looked down into the green Lily pads and seaweed growing on the bottom.

He could hear music, soft at first, then growing louder. A single voice, joined by many. But not in a language he could understand. The sounds were hypnotic, and the irresistible urge was put off as he lay without moving under the water, letting the sounds wash over him. Perhaps it was his requiem, perhaps a greeting, he knew not which.

Out of the sun-speckled green of the water emerged the merpeople, scores of them. Gray-skinned mermen strongly grasped each of his limbs and pulled him down, their green hair tangled with kelp. Now the panic arose, as they moved deeper and deeper, the water becoming darker as the sun faded in the murkiness. He struggled, twisted, instinct driving him not to take in a breath of water and accelerate his death, at war with his conscious desire to give in to death. A mermaid, clearly the leader, approached him and put her hands alongside his neck, dragging her dark green fingernails deep into both sides. The initial searing pain gave way to relief as gills opened instead of blood, and he found himself able to breathe in relief in the deep waters. He took several deep breaths while the merpeople observed him, waiting for his signal to continue. When at last he felt relieved again, he gestured to the mermaid, who passed the gesture to the others. They dived with him, further down.

Now he followed, no longer restrained, but a willing companion to what lay ahead. Down they swam, to depths he'd lost track of estimating. But the pressure was not heavy and his breathing easy, though the darkness as gathering as they were further and further from the sunny surface. At last, breaking through a stand of towering kelp, they reached the bottom, where even more merpeople were gathered, swimming excitedly as the group continued downward. The lead mermaid gestured to a small group, who came forward. They gently took Snape down to the muddy bottom, to a place ringed by giant towers of kelp and spherical stones. They then dug handfuls of mud from the circle and plastered his body with the cool, clay-like blue substance.

His scars, still buzzing from exposure above, now burned. He had forgotten how he'd gotten many of them, but now each plaster of the healing mask brought back the memory and the pain of each, vivid as the day he received the injury. Spells and fistfights from school days, curses and hexes from his days as a Death Eater settling scores of extortions and deals, duels, the agonies of Dark Magic training and practice, even some self-inflicted from experimental spells and curses gone wrong. Once he had taken up teaching at Hogwarts, he'd never sought the ministrations of Madame Pomfrey, preferring to self-medicate, and he pondered memories of applying salves, taking foul-tasting potions, and reapplying bandages to each wound. With each wave of pain and heat, he could feel the skin cool, the relief making the pain worth it, the relief far more intense than the pain. He began to look forward to each new searing, as the relief afterwards was so euphoric.

A merman applied the mud to his nose, and this was far more painful than the first. Memories of a fist fight at school before he could cast curses and spells without a wand, bad falls from strong spells, none of them reset properly. Bone healing, hard tissue rearranging, was on a different order of magnitude than the scars from skin. The euphoria was now a memory as he writhed. The merpeople held him fast as the others continued to cake him with the deep blue mud. But the eventual release came, his body fairly ringing with relief.

Lastly, the head mermaid now approached, his neck injury the last he'd received and the only one now left. She dug another handful of the blue sludge, but paused to spit in it and work in the liquid. She snapped off a leaf from the nearby kelp tower and rubbed it on his neck. It burned like fire, but did not give way to any kind of relief. Snape twisted as he felt the burning substance from the leaf enter his circulation, burning from within. The merpeople released him and he now writhed soundlessly, twisting as the fire spread altogether too slowly out to his hands, his feet. He relived the moment, the approach of the snake, the venomous look, the raising of its head, the sinking deep of the fangs, the venom penetrating, life exiting. Finally, when he was frozen in agony, he felt the fire enter his head, saw only red, felt only rage, then anger, then vengefulness, then remorse, guilt, revulsion. He felt as though his head would split open, welcomed any end to this tsunami of emotion, then felt the beginnings of resolution. He knew he was breathing hard, the gills on the sides of his neck flapping madly. At last, the fire burned out. The mermaid plastered his neck wound with the blue mud, but he now was beyond pain, all sensation drained out.

He floated still in the depths, unable or unwilling to move, exhausted. He waited for his gills to breathe normally again. He could not recall the feeling that was now within him. For so many years, regret, revenge, guilt, anger, and self-loathing had been his emotional stock-in-trade. These were lifting now, but to be replaced by what, he could no longer remember. Resignation? Acceptance? The question remained unanswered. But some portion of his great internal burden was removed. Was this what happiness felt like, or was it only emptiness?

Merpeople now gathered around him, clearing away the mud with water lily leaves, leaving his skin clear of both mud and scars, now as clear and unblemished as in his youth. And now they swam above him and below him, gesturing him to rise. A young mermaid, perhaps of four or so, took his hand, pulling him upwards. Her hair was long, and dark, not green or blue. And her skin, paler than the rest, perhaps owing to her youth? She swam strongly, dragging him as he worked to keep up. The other merpeople faded, their singing sending him off from their world. He turned and gave wordless thanks. The little mermaid tugged at his hand, impatient, leading him, swimming towards the sun, kicking her feet, the water growing warmer, the sun stronger, until it nearly blinded him. He turned his back to the blinding sun and looked at the younger mermaid in the light. She seemed familiar somehow, who did she remind him of? She looked back at him with a steady gaze, never looking away. She drew near now and dragged her hands back over Snape's neck, the gills vanishing behind them. She held his hand for a long time, as Snape floated and felt the warmth of the water on his healed skin. Who was she, this girl, so different from the others? The next mermaid queen? She squeezed his hand just as the urge to breathe took over. With reluctance, he released her hand, turned away, and swam for the surface, his lungs burning with hunger for air. He burst to the surface, took two breaths, then dove back down. He looked behind him in hope of catching another glimpse, but she had already faded from view.


	2. Chapter 2: Revived

Hermione, Ron, Neville, George and Ginny found Harry at last, still sitting beside Headmaster Snape, unwilling to leave, unwilling to face the fact that he'd lost yet another person from his life. Even seeing Ginny, which should have made his heart leap for joy, only slightly tempered his despair.

Hermione sent George to get any other teacher they could find and notify them of Snape's death. Then she turned to Harry.

"I'm sorry, Harry," was all she could say.

McGonagall arrived first, followed close behind by Flitwick. She ran forward and knelt by the motionless man, taking his hand in hers. "Oh, Severus," she choked out. She drew her wand and together with Flitwick, they uttered as many charms as they knew, to no avail. Minerva knelt once more, her hands to his chest. "We're too late." Flitwick stood by, with a comforting hand on her shoulder and joined her in tears.

"We should take him to Madame Pomfrey and prepare his body," he said gently. "It's all we can do now."

Professor McGonagall nodded and accepted his assistance at standing. She turned slowly to the students assembled and said "We need to carry the Headmaster's body to the Great Hall, where Madame Pomfrey is helping the injured." She seemed as though she wanted to say more, but could not. She gestured to George and the others to help carry the body to the Great Hall.

Harry looked uncomfortably at his friends, who all seemed to feel the same feeling as him, that to touch Professor Snape was a boundary that he would never have wanted them to cross in life. Realizing the absurdity of this now as well as the need to get him to Madame Pomfrey, he steeled himself and joined the others in lifting the body. They bore him down from the tower in silence, other than the occasional choke and gasp of one, followed by a round from all the others.

Approaching the Great Hall, they could see again the scope of the events of the day. Usually filled with hungry students arranged by house chattering, the Great Hall was now a field hospital, filled with beds, the beds filled with the injured and the dead. The only sounds were of Madame Pomfrey giving orders to any able-bodied person or house-elf standing nearby and some cries of pain.

McGonagall approached her and whispered in her ear. Poppy dropped her clipboard, then picked it up again and hurried to Snape and the students. "Put him here," she said, conjuring another bed. Once he was laid out, the students backed away and allowed the Healer to do what she needed to. She fell to her work, touching his wrists, touching his neck, opening his eyes, her wand in constant motion, a steady stream of incantations from her mouth. At last, she stepped back, saying only, "I'm sorry."

McGonagall embraced her friend and colleague as they looked on helplessly.

Madame Pomfrey said, "We will prepare his body, but now the living come first." She and Flitwick pulled up the sheet and covered Snape's face.

Pomfrey took a look at her clipboard, then turned, ready to minister once again to the living. As she strode back down the rows of beds, the door to the Great Hall burst open.

"He's not ready yet, no! Don't give up! I've had a vision!"

Professor Trelawney rushed in, a look of terror in her face, and took hold of both Flitwick's and McGonagall's arms, entreating them to listen. "He's not dead. Please, do more. I've seen, I've seen. His child. Don't give up!"

At this, her eyes glazed over, rolled back into her head, and she fainted to the floor.

Harry thought to himself that, although she'd never been right in any class he'd ever been in, she's also never looked like this before. "Madame Pomfrey, she may be right this time. Is there anything else we can do?"

"I'm sorry, Harry, but anything we would do now would be futile. He's lost to much blood and there is a lot of venom in his system. There are no signs of life in him and I've used every healing charm i know of." She looked at him sadly, sympathizing with the urge to believe, the urge to hope despite all the evidence against it.

"What would you do if he did have life signs? Please, we have to try, we can't just give up. He never gave up on me, not even when I rejected him, not even when all of us did. Just tell me what to do, I'll let you go tend to the others," he said, desperately. The others nodded their agreement, still stunned by Trelawney's spectacle.

Madame Pomfrey considered this for a moment, looking from Snape, motionless, and Trelawney, also motionless. "Ok," she said. "You can administer the Salve of Salvation." She snapped her fingers and a house elf appeared. "Go get the Salve of Salvation, I think it's next to bed number 12." The house elf scurried off and returned in moments with the salve, in a large bucket.

"What's in the Salve of Salvation," Hermione asked. "I've never heard of it."

"Not sure I remember. I haven't made a Potion in years, Professor Snape always makes…." Her voice trailed off. Then she snapped back into the moment. "Good thing he made a lot lately, must've known we'd need it. This needs to be applied to as much of the surface of the skin as possible, especially any injured area. Start with his neck, that's the freshest wound. I'll be rounding if you need me." And she strode off.

McGonagall took charge. Stepping over Trelawney, she ordered "All right students, let's get to work. Ginny, start applying the salve to his neck wounds. Ron, George, get started on those buttons and let's see if there are other injuries that are not as obvious."

Nothing could have prepared the students for what they found. It took some effort to remove the robe and jacket, revealing the blood-covered shirt. After pulling Snape's arms from his bloodied shirt and cutting off his undershirt, they saw scars upon scars, injuries on injuries. Some new and swollen, but countless others older and fading. Hermione directed them. "These look newer, start here. Now these, they are older. And that looks like an old one there, too."

If lifting the Headmaster clothed felt like a violation, touching his bare skin felt like an act of war, but they pressed on, scooping out the foul-smelling grey pasty salve. Where it was applied, they felt a stinging heat in their fingers, but continued.

Trelawney had regained consciousness and sat forward, holding her head in her hands.

"We can't give up, my vision….It was so strong, so clear."

Neville sat next to her and put an arm around her, saying nothing, but offering what comfort he could.

When there seemed to be no further scar to be covered, the group stood back. "How long does it take to work, Professor?" asked Ron, looking skeptical.

"I have no idea, I've never seen anyone receive this much, nor have I tried it on someone so...well...far gone before," she replied, looking intently at Snape. "George, please go get Madame Pomfrey and let her know we've finished applying the salve."

George returned with Madame Pomfrey directly. Again, she felt for a pulse, inspected his neck injuries, muttered spells and incantations, and put her wand to his chest. Nothing. She shook her head sadly.

Harry choked on his words, tears that he couldn't previously have imagined shedding for this man now staining his cheeks. "Severus Snape was a good man, he saved me, gave his life for me, for all of us. He's been helping us all along, facing the Dark Lord, deceiving the greatest Dark Wizard the world has ever seen. He paid for his mistakes his whole life and you can see the price he paid all over his body. And now he has paid with his life. If I can ever say I was half the wizard he was, I will consider it high praise."

"You'd need to actually do homework, Potter, if you ever want to be half the wizard I am, so you have nothing to be concerned about."

Harry choked and turned, as the others began to look about in confusion, most eyes falling on George, who looked quite taken aback at the silence accusation. Surely even he wouldn't be so cheeky as to imitate the dead professor.

Snape's eyes opened slightly and he turned his head. A shout of laughter mixed with incalculable relief went up when they saw life returning to Snape's face. Harry fell upon the man, embracing him, joy spreading as he joined the laughter.

McGonagall and Flitwick rushed forward with the students to surround the bed. Madame Pomfrey looked on in wonder, as the many scars were now fading and his color, what little there was of it, slowly returned, the pale grey skin becoming more pink. In disbelief, she took his wrist to confirm his living.

"He has a pulse now! The salve worked, I've never seen it work before. This is miraculous!" Madame Pomfrey exclaimed.

Harry fell back with the others in amazement and relief. Maybe some combination of the asphodel and salve worked, maybe some deeper magic. Who knew? Harry couldn't have imagined feeling so relieved over Snape's recovery even an hour before, but that now felt like a lifetime away, a part of his past that he was happy to put behind him. Hermione squeezed Ron's hand, and he put a comforting arm around her. Harry now took note of Ginny's presence and reached for her hand. He began to realize that a future was possible now, but resolved to think about that later, to enjoy the moment now.

McGonagall and Flitwick came forward to draw up the covers over Snape's exposed chest, as Madame Pomfrey began to shoo everyone away, saying "He'll need all the rest he can get, I'm sure. Let's find a robe for him, some water, and a meal, if he can eat. You kids, see if you can find your heads of house, and return to your common rooms. You could probably stand to rest as well."

Resting would have to wait, as news of the victory spread and more and more people wanted to hear the stories of the past year, the fight, and the role of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Headmaster.

Harry retold the story as many times as asked, passing along the story of Snape's loyalty, but leaving out the parts about his own family. Admiration and understanding followed the initial surprise, which only underscored to Harry the man's talents and self-control under pressure.

Once the giddiness over the victory faded, mourning for lost friends and family set in, paired with seeking solace with those still living. At long last, sleep came, with it a blissful time of release. Harry, despite his exhaustion, lay awake longer than he expected, enjoying the quiet and adjusting to the notion that the terrors of the past years might be over now. His thoughts turned to Snape and his admiration grew as he considered all he knew now. They both had a difficult upbringing, albeit for different reasons. His own father had bullied and humiliated him, fueling adolescent anger and resentment, then trying and ultimately failing to capture the heart of perhaps his only real friend. Harry could easily cast himself in the role of an angry teenager, the appeal of a route to power and respect laid out before you. The horror of realizing too late where that path led, and already being trapped within it. The difficulty of finding that the way to survive would not be a rescue to anything like freedom or release, but an interminable penance, full of danger, with few comforts of any kind. And Snape had risen to the tasks set before him, deceiving Voldemort for years, deceiving him, knowing that it would be dangerous to show anything to Harry, given that Harry and Voldemort seemed to have a connection in their consciousness. Driven, at its core, by a capacity for love that no one could have imagined.

Harry wondered what more he might have known, had he demonstrated better skill at Occlumency. As he pondered those unknowable things, sleep at last overtook him, and he slept until well past noon the next day, his mind free from both nightmares and dreams.


	3. Chapter 3: Recovery

A note from the author: Thank you, readers and reviewers. Pleased to see interest. Please continue to send reviews and feedback to improve, as I confess to be new to this. A better and better story is my goal, happy readers.

And then began the process of finding friends and teachers, notifying parents, and identifying those missing, injured, or dead. The stories told the evening after the final battle were retold, with additions and subtractions, taking on a life of their own, as stories do. Friends were mourned, families comforted by tales of heroism and ultimate victory, but with an empty place that would never be filled, little left to do but continue forward, forever changed. Over the next week, students returned home, relieved to be with families again, and to recover from the nightmare of the war. There was no Leaving Banquet for this year, no graduation, only a withdrawal, with quiet slowly taking over, room by room, house by house. Even the Hogwarts ghosts were subdued, wondering if there would be new additions to their number, though they were not in favor of the idea.

Once the students had all exited, the staff began their summer preparations for the portions of the school that remained undamaged. McGonagall, as Deputy Headmistress, led the efforts to assess the school and inventory the damage and recruit any available builder, conjurer, or mason to assist in the repair and rebuilding, though plans were required to be scaled back considerably and slowed once the state of the school's finances became more clear. Chaos had reigned the year before, with exorbitant spending by the Carrows on equipment for teaching the Dark Arts, a refunding of years of tuition to the families of Death Eaters, and a general looting of the school assets by those who hoped to use the school's valuables to support themselves after the presumed victory by Voldemort. Minerva allowed a smirk as she considered how disappointed the thieves would be once the discovered the nearly unbreakable charms placed on the items to become useless outside the grounds of the school. That smirk vanished upon the consideration of the truly dire nature of the school. How would the staff be paid next year, even if they were willing to work for less for a time? How would the repairs be financed to even have a school at which to teach? Her several queries to the Ministry of Magical Education had yet to be returned. The staff there was under some degree of transition in the wake of Dolores Umbrage's removal, as well as many of her staff and the newly-appointed Minister, Paracelsus Winder, had yet to get himself established. It was no certainty that monies would be made available even after he had settled, the Ministry coffers having been robbed during the year of Death Eater influence.

Wincing as a migraine came on, she walked slowly to the hospital wing, less for treatment, as she was capable of taking care of such a minor illness herself, but more for company and companionship. Talking through her concerns with Poppy helped her clear her own mind.

"How is Severus?" she asked, after Poppy had waved away the blinding headache. Standing at the foot of his hospital bed, they observed him sleeping silently and motionless, despite it's being lunchtime.

Poppy consulted her parchment. "He's sleeping less now than the first week, but he's still weak. He eats if offered a meal, but never expresses hunger. He never requests pain potions, but I can tell he's uncomfortable. His pallor is unchanged." She put the parchment down. "I'm keeping close observations. I've never heard if a patient so dead recover. I have no idea what to expect, but I'll be sure to publish the results." She turned away from her patient and towards the Deputy Headmistress. "And how are you doing with the school's business?" she inquired.

McGonagall allowed one of her few public displays of exhaustion, pinching the bridge of her nose as she sighed. "I'm worried, Poppy," she confessed. "The rebuilding is costing a fortune and we don't have any more money to pay them. I'll have to stop the work tomorrow and I have no idea when I'll be able to restart it. The school is only just barely in condition for the summer. I have no idea how we'll afford to get it ready for students in the fall." She looked at Snape again. "But at least we have some hope now, with the war over." She turned, waving her hand dismissively. "I shouldn't complain. We have a school, and students, and a decent, peaceful future for which to prepare them. And none of that was very certain until recently. If I have to teach in the open air, so be it." Feeling more like herself again, she straightened her hat, smoothed her robes, and bade the Healer a good day.

Snape's protracted recovery continued under the watchful eye of Madame Pomfrey, who insisted that he reside in the hospital wing until she permitted him to leave, which seemed to possibly be never.

"Poppy, thank you for your care, but I feel fine. If anything should arise of concern, I'll be sure to let you know," Snape repeated yet again.

"Such as receiving deep wounds from hexes and spells? Your history of requesting my assistance when needed is clearly poor, Severus," she snapped.

Snape understood her anger and took it as concern, but still, was more than ready to retreat to his own quarters, despite the stiffness and aches that defined his body. "The circumstances which made my self-treatment necessary are no longer in effect. And as I am still Headmaster of this school, I have work to do, as I am sure you can imagine. Not the least of which is overseeing the repairs."

"Work?" Madame Pomfrey barked. "You will remain here until I release you. And that's my final word on the subject," she added, cutting off Snape's attempt at a further objection. "The builders have been dismissed for now. There's no more money."

Snape thought for a moment, considering the next move in the chess game of winning his freedom from the overprotective Healer. "Might I be … permitted … an assistant, at least, Madam?" he asked with resignation. To this, surely, she could not object.

"Of course, but I can't imagine who would be available. The rest of the staff has returned home, except for me," she said.

Snape looked around. "The house elves have remained, yes? And some of them can write, I presume, as I have seen them helping you here in the hospital wing." She nodded. "Please send me one who can write well. And some clothes in house elf size." The Healer raised her eyebrows and smiled, thinking of how to conjure such an item.

Without delay, a small house elf named Bina arrived with quills, ink and parchment, dressed smartly in what appeared to be a junior Hogwarts school robe, a green and silver tie around her shirt collar. Snape regarded her coolly, silently wishing he had been more specific with Poppy, but continued on.

Bina proved quite able, and recruited several others to join her, each dressed in identical robes and scarves or ties. Snape began the business of leading Hogwarts once again, giving nearly constant orders. The first was for the release from servitude of house elves by the provision of clothing. Some elves chose other house colors, but none left the school. Bina and her team of scribes worked in shifts on communications. Staff communications, family notifications, rebuilding planning, financial appeals (endless appeals), responses to the piles of inquiries from the Department of Magical Education, and witch and wizard community updates. The scribe elves were now nearly covered in ink, with callouses on their hands. Snape asked Bina if Dumbledore had a staff before him, but she denied this. "As far as any of us knows, he did his writing himself." "Waste of time," thought Snape, as he appreciated continuing to plan while his previously dictated communications were being prepared. Only his personal communications did he handle himself, and these were few.

As May faded into June, Snape made a request that Madame Pomfrey could not refuse.

She snatched the parchment Snape had handed her on her most recent examination visit (no further weakenss, normal appetite, normal color (for Snape), stable, no changes for the worse), expecting yet another request for release to his quarters. She looked at him with a grave concern that she hadn't had since the first days of his remarkable recovery.

"The Ministry is putting you on trial? How can they, Severus?" she fumed.

"How can they not," he replied diffidently. "The _Daily Prophet_ has been filled with nothing but trials for weeks. The Ministry would have gotten to me sometime and it is better now than after the school term begins."

"You are to appear tomorrow at 10:30am. Do you have an advocate? Any witnesses to call? I'll call Bina and you can get your requests sent out right away."

"No need," said Snape, beginning to gather his papers.

"Oh, you've already done this yourself," she said, folding up the parchment and handing it back to him.

"No, I am not bringing anyone with me," he said, taking the parchment back and adding it to the towering pile at his bedside. He stood up and made to leave the hospital wing.

"What?! That's madness, of course you'll need an advocate. And we can find any number of witnesses to testify on your behalf," she said urgently. "This is serious, Severus. These trials have been fast and fierce. Ministry justice is swift and binding."

"Thank you for your _healing_ advice and care, Poppy," he said. "All I require now is the proper clothing, thank you. This hospital gown simply won't do."

"All right, then, if you insist. But if there is ANYTHING, and I mean ANYTHING, out of the ordinary, I am ordering you to report it to me immediately. Your recovery is unprecedented in my experience, and I have no idea what to expect. And as Headmaster of this school, you have a duty to uphold. DOIMAKEMYSELFCLEAR?" she said, shaking an angry quill in his direction, determination in every word.

"Of course," Snape intoned indifferently, and began gathering what few of his things remained. He observed his hospital gown billowing around him ridiculously, but hoped with no students and few staff at the school, that he might just make it back to his rooms unobserved. And he did so, other than by Peeves, who immediately began mocking his pale skinny legs, delighted to have a diversion from the quiet monotony at last. Snape drew out his wand and sent a well-aimed Silencio charm in Peeves' direction, satisfied when the poltergeist was mute. He pondered how long he would allow this to remain and decided that he would ponder for a considerable amount of time.

Arriving at the door to his own rooms, he found a wrapped parcel by the door. After assuring himself that it wasn't cursed or charmed, he tucked it under his arm and began to mutter the countercharms to release the locks on his door. Once inside his chambers, never cheerful but now even more dank after some weeks of disuse, he opened that parcel to find a fresh suit of clothes awaiting him and a note from the house elves, thanking him for their gift of clothing. The clothes were identical in style to his previous clothes, though without the tattered or bloody conditions that had prevailed most recently. He dressed himself deliberately and gratefully, attempting to recall on what occassion he had purchased new clothing in the past and only being able to recall a new pair of trousers some 10 years before when the previous pair had been hexed beyond repair in a difficult duel. Otherwise, he had simply made small repairs over the years when necessary.

These had tags from Reginald Ragspin's shop in Hogsmead, known for no-nonsense quality. Pulling up trousers, buttoning the pearly buttons of the crisp white linen shirt, tying the silken cravat, buttoning the sleeves and front of the jacket, pulling up boots polished to a brilliant shine, he noted that the fit was extraordinary, clearly custom-made, unlike anything he'd worn before. He wondered how his measurements had been made, then decided to put that out of his mind. Topping it off with a new, clean black robe, muttering a few incantations, he felt more himself that he had since the end of the battle.

But what was "himself" anymore? His over-extended stay in the hospital wing, days filled with orders to the house elves and yet another round of examination from Poppy or her helpers, had still left him the interminable nights with more time to think than a man should have. What mattered any more? He had fulfilled his obligation to Dumbledore, having protected Harry, as well as the students of Hogwarts. The Dark Lord was defeated, never to rise again. He had kept his Unbreakable Vow and protected Draco, as well, though what his and his family's fate would be now was anyone's guess. The few editions of the _Daily Prophet_ that he'd managed to get past Pomfrey read like a scandal sheet, with innumerable Death Eaters being rounded up by the Aurors and tried by the Ministry, their fortunes and property seized. Nearly all of them had renounced the Dark Lord, insisting that they were under the Imperious Curse. With little to prove otherwise, and a newfound policy of mercy and reconciliation, the Ministry offered clemency and service to those who vowed allegiance to the newly re-formed Ministry, the equality of all Wizards and Witches, and the protection of the Muggle community. Few were foolish enough to continue to support a cause whose champion was now thoroughly destroyed and unable to provide any patronage, but there were a few steadfast holdouts who disbelieved the evidence of Voldemort's destruction. They now resided in Azkaban, demonstrating their loyalty there.

Realizing that comtemplating an empty, simple, and monotonous future was a waste of his time, Snape hastily wrote two communications, sealed them, then walked a quickly as his legs would carry him up to the Owlery. Selecting the strongest, fastest owls, he sent his communications off into the unnecessarily bright and cheerful noon sun.

By the time he had reached the Headmaster's Office, Bina stood ready beside a small desk set with quills, ink, and parchment, as he had requested. Moments later, a short, round baby-faced young man in a pinstriped robe appeared out of the fireplace with a popping sound and a flash of green fire. Despite the cleanliness of the fireplace in this warm season, he began to charm away any residual ash out of habit. Once convinced his robes were spotless, he turned and greeted the tall man standing beside the oaken desk.

"Severus, Severus, Severus!" he fairly squealed, a clean hand with buffed nails extended. "I had heard the rumors, so pleased to see you up and about, looking so well. Maybe even better than before," he added conspiratorily. "Excellent to see you," he continued, pumping Snape's hand energetically. Once it became clear that Snape was unlikely to offer an explanation of any kind, the short, slightly rounded man released his hand, allowing Snape to gesture for him to sit. Now Bina got her quill ready.

"Thank you for coming, Arboreus, on short notice."

"So," he said, his sleek dragonhide case on his knees, "for what purpose did you summon your advocate so very urgently?"

"I have been scheduled to stand trial…"

"When?" the lawyer asked, getting out a parchment from his case.

"Tomorrow, 10:30am."

"I'll be there and we'll…"

"No. I don't require you to be there. I require you to serve as a witness here tonight. I need to make changes to my estate."

The man stopped jotting down notes and looked up. "Firstly, Severus, you would be ill-advised to represent yourself, but secondly, I think it is doubtful that you'll be sentenced to death, given your role.."

Snape waved away all further entreaties from Arboreus Hobble, despite the young man's forceful objections. Instead, he applied himself to the Headmaster's changes to his estate, aggravated at Snape's lack of trust in him or, worse, hubris in thinking he could defend himself ably in the Byzantine procedure that was Magical court.

As he left, his case now chewing and swallowing the newly drawn up documents, Hobble spoke one last time to the Headmaster. "You know you are entering a pit of snakes there, Severus. You really should have me there."

"It's nothing compared to what I've already faced," Snape said enigmatically. "Those papers must be executed today, so you best be on your way." Hobble shrugged, turned, and vanished in a flash of green flames.

So, what now of him? Snape paced alone in his small chamber as he gathered what few things he needed for tomorrow's unpleasantness. He had spent so many years, first in the service of the Dark Lord, then in renouncing him and acting as a double agent. He could only dimly remember life before this. He had never had the luxury to consider a life beyond the quest to defeat Voldemort, for what lay ahead would surely be like that behind, though of indeterminate length. But the events of that day, there by the lakeside, haunted him. What did it mean, his being sent back, it not yet being his time? And still, he needed to look after Harry, but for how long, to what end?

For now, for today, prepare for the trial. Prepare to face your accusers.

As he fastened the case now containing the required parchments and scrolls, there came a knock on the door. Who would have come all the way down here to invade his private space and at this late hour? He searched his memory to recall the last time he'd had any visitor here and none came to mind. He had chosen these remote and forbidding rooms in the dungeon for a reason. He cursed under his breath at this invasion. He muttered the countercharms yet again and pulled the door open sharply, barking out "I'm fine, Poppy, it's been only hours now…"

It wasn't Madam Pomfrey knocking at his door. Professor Trelawney cowered there in the dark and empty corridor, her hands trembling after his forceful greeting. "So sorry to disturb you, Severus. I've been trying to speak to you for more than a week now, but Madam Pomfrey said you needed rest. And today she said you'd returned here, so…..here I am." She looked around nervously through her thick glasses and anxiously wrung her hands. "It's very important, Severus, I mean Headmaster, or I would never have come down here."

Snape glared at her, the old fool. It was her vision of the prophecy that had started this whole mess, started him down the path of a nightmare that he was only waking up from now. He reminded himself yet again, as Dumbledore would have, had he been there, that her vision alone didn't cause this chaos, but his passing along the information. And Peter Pettigrew's betrayal. Few witches or wizards still living could bring forth such a visceral pain in him, though she never knew this. But as Headmaster, he realized his obligation to his staff and reconsidered. Until such a time as he could find a replacement, she remained Hogwarts' Professor of Divination. Dumbledore had retained her, despite her rather spotty record of late. Deciding to begin his new life on as good a footing as possible, he stood aside and gestured for her to enter the dim rooms.

"Apologies, Professor Trelawney. I had mistaken you for Poppy, who has been far more attentive to me than necessary of late. Come in." He felt more than strange, in his attempts to be reassuring. Unyielding and intimidating had been his style, but Sybil seemed so anxious, so unsure, he felt a small twinge of pity for her, an unfamiliar emotion. With Dumbledore gone, she probably assumed that she would be immediately dismissed. Having no other actual skills, who knew what would become of her? Probably running a store-front fortune-telling salon for Muggles, an utter disgrace. And besides, who else would take her place? It wasn't as though there were a sizable pool of other, more skilled, Seers. And an even smaller group would be willing to teach here for the salary he'd be able to offer. Muggle fortune-telling, for all its shame, at least typically paid well, given how little actual proof of success was required to persuade them to part with their money.

Trelawney sat in the lone chair facing the now idle fireplace while Snape remained standing, there being no other place to sit. He requested some wine and fruit be sent up from the kitchens and it appeared in seconds with a knock on his door. Sybil seemed grateful for this unexpectedly warm reception. Snape poured her a short half-glass of dark red wine, which she downed with alarming speed. With some degree of foreboding, he opted not to offer her more until she said what needed to be said, still as sober as possible. After pouring himself a short glass, he placed the bottle on the mantel and waited for her to begin.

After a few silent moments when it became clear that the offer of an additional glass of wine would not be immediately forthcoming, Trelawney placed her empty glass aside and began.

"The night of the final battle, I was in the Ravenclaw common room, evacuating the younger students who weren't old enough to fight. After all the children were taken to the evacuation point, I returned to the castle to do battle if need be." She paused, and Snape provided a companionable silence, allowing her to continue at her own pace. "I could hear the violence of the battle, but as I tried to get my bearings, a vision overtook me." Here she paused, and turned her magnified eyes up to his. "The vision was of you."

Snape raised his eyebrows, his fingers drumming on his glass, trying to imagine where this was going. He shifted on his feet and struggled to keep his face impassive, rather than showing the growing irritation he was feeling. She had spent years predicting doom and destruction of every imaginable kind, with no tangible results. But she had been correct at least once, he knew. For that, he opted not to interrupt, but to remain silent and allow her to go on.

She knit her fingers together tensely. "It was a vision of the future, clear as day. Now I know not everything I see comes to be, but this was different. The sounds of the battle faded, and it was as though I were really there with you. You were older, though not by much. And there was a little girl with you, too young to be a student, little more than a toddler. She had long dark hair."

Snape's expression softened slightly from frank irritation to skeptical curiosity. "Go on."

Having expected a dismissive sneer at best, a barking dismissal at worst, she blushed slightly, surprised by his reaction and pleased to have his full attention now. Her hands fluttering to her neck and twisting one of her scarves, she continued. "That's how I knew you weren't dead, because you had a future. I needed to find you right away, but I had no idea where you were. I had to wait until the battle was over and it was quiet again, then try to find you. At first, I had no idea where to begin to look for you, but the vision continued, the little girl running ahead to show me the way. She led me right to you, saying…."

Snape was now rapt. "What did she say?" he said urgently, setting aside his glass. "Who was the girl?"

Trelawney was whispering now, pulling at the fringe of her shawl, looking at some point well beyond Snape's shoulder. "She said, 'There's my daddy, please wake him up.'" At this, she stopped and looked into his eyes. "Everyone was around you there, you were lying dead on the ground, but I knew you weren't dead; you had a future. I insisted that they continue to try to revive you, though they had already tried everything they could. I think I became quite hysterical, because I knew that little girl needed you. At that point, I think I collapsed, because the next thing I knew, I awoke and they had taken you back to Madame Pomfrey, only the Longbottom boy was still with me. I didn't know you were actually alive or dead for some time, but the little girl was still there beside me. She held my hand and said 'He'll be ok now. Thanks for waking him up.'"

Snape gazed intently into the fireplace, though it was dormant. He was torn between being thankful that Trelawney had insisted on his not being dead and aggravated by this vision. He had no intention of sharing his own experiences during that time, especially not the little mermaid girl. The little mermaid girl with pale skin, dark hair, and feet instead of fins. Turning back to her, he said "Sybil, thank you for encouraging the others to continue their efforts on my behalf." He extended her his hand, which she took, her other hand still pulling on the fringe, which was now coming loose from its edge. She rose to stand. "I am forever in your debt."

"Of course, Headmaster." Snape withdrew his hand and stood back, knowing there was more coming. Sybil never simply said all that she knew.

"But you've taken a long time to tell me. That was more than a month ago. Why wait until now?"

"I tried to visit you almost every day, but Poppy said you weren't to have visitors," she said haltingly, looking away, down at the floor.

Snape recalled the near constant parade of students and staff visiting before their departures, some parents who'd come to get their children from the school, rather than waiting for the train, then McGonagall and the house elves, and smiled to himself. Poppy was probably wise.

"And now I've been released, so here you are."

"And it's probably just as well, because it has given me time to think about what the vision means."

"Other than I was still living?"

"The girl, she called you daddy." At this, Trelawney paused, blushing deeply. She nearly grabbed his arm, but thought the better of it at the last minute and withdrew it once again, instead tugging at another of her scarves. "Is it possible that you have a child, Headmaster? She was maybe 4 or 5 years old."

Snape snapped up rigidly to his full height, looked coldly down his long nose and barked at her. "No, it is certainly _not_ possible. Merlin's beard, Sybil, what are you suggesting?"

Trelawney looked terrified, already-magnified eyes now even wider, but continued undissuaded, the look of fear merging with the smile breaking across her face. "Nothing, Headmaster, nothing. But this must mean she is in your future, which is what I was thinking. But I had to see you, to be sure." Despite the affront clear on Snape's face, Trelawney took his hand. "You'll have a child, sometime soon, Severus, a girl. How wonderful!" She dropped his hand and put her hand to her mouth. "But the vision didn't show me who her mother will be."

At this, Snape choked slightly. "Sybil, have you told anyone else about the rest of your vision, other than my still being alive?"

"No, Headmaster, of course not. I wanted to speak with you first, to verify that it was a vision of the future."

He looked squarely into her eyes, distorted by her thick glasses. "I'd appreciate it if you kept this to yourself, Sybil. I'm sure you can understand my desire to avoid being the object of any further speculation." Here he paused, not breaking his glare, then said deliberately "I can't think of a reason anyone else would take an interest." He drained what little remained in his glass, barely tasting it, and put it on the mantel next to the bottle. "Thank you for letting me know." It became clear to Sybil that the visit was now at an end, and there would be no offer for a second glass of wine. He took her not entirely gently by the elbow and moved her towards the door.

"Of course, Headmaster. As you wish."

After Trelawney had taken her leave and the locking charms replaced, Snape sat down heavily, elbows on his knees. He ran his fingers roughly through his hair and gazed at the empty fireplace out of long-standing habit. He put no stock in anything Sybil Trelawney had said in years, but the association of a true vision, his being still alive, with the child, gave him pause. The description sounded uncomfortably like the mermaid girl. Adoption, fostering, a first-year student who seemed younger than she was? Perhaps this was Harry's child, with a godfather being mixed up with a father? Because the idea of his having a child, a daughter no less, was absurd.


	4. Chapter 4: The Daily Prophet

**Thanks to those who have offered reviews! Feel free to offer "constructive" criticism, as well as the supportive comments, which are always warmly welcomed. This chapter reunites us with Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Ron, but I'll get back to my favorite character soon! Enjoy!**

 **And thank you for constructive criticism. This chapter updated to align more correctly with the novels. Thank you readers.**

Harry and Hermione returned to the Burrow with the Weasleys, joining them in mourning Fred while seeking solace in each other's company and support.

Hermione left as soon as was polite and recalled her parents from Australia. The effort of undoing the Forgetting Charms was great and difficult to observe, but once complete, they were confused by her immense joy at seeing them again. "My dear, is something wrong at school? I can't recall your ever being so glad to be home for the summer before," they exclaimed worriedly. But she reassured them that all was well, and that she would probably go see friends again later in the summer.

Hermione looked up from the breakfast table hearing the familiar tap of the post owl delivering her _Daily Prophet_. Even at home with her parents, she continued to appreciate keeping up with the news of the Wizard and Witchcraft world. And there was a lot of it in the wake of the war. The reestablishment of order at the Ministry, the new Quidditch schedules, reports of repairs and recovery. And the trials. Endless trials. Most people claimed, as in times past, that they were under the Imperious Curse and were either pardoned or given relatively light sentences, many of which involved long periods of probation and hefty fines. With Voldemort truly defeated, his followers abandoned the cause wholesale. Hermione suspected many would continue to use the Dark Arts when possible, taking unlawful advantage as they could. But it seemed unlikely that Death Eaters would come to power or even be a significant organized threat any time soon.

Today's paper was smaller compared the more recent thick ones. Although there were fewer trials now, they tended to be of the more significant figures. Alecto and Amycus Carrow were sent to Azkaban again, never denouncing Voldemort. What was to be gained by supporting a clearly hopeless cause, Hermione wondered? Lucius Malfoy was released, but on lifetime probation and fines. Dolohov claimed Imperious, as did Mulciber and the Goyles. The front page today made Hermione stop eating, dreading to read the article.

 _Hogwarts' Headmaster Severus Snape Found Guilty at Trial, Riots at Sentencing_

 _At the Wizengamot today, former Death Eater, Potions Master, and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Severus Snape stood trial for his various crimes during the war and before. The list is too long to print in these pages, but highlights include the use of Unforgivable Curses, Treason, Treachery, Murder, Encouragement of Dark Magic, and Use of Dark Magic, among many others._

 _Professor Snape chose to represent himself, having declined even the support of his longtime advocate, Arboreus Hobble. Hobble was quoted as saying "Even though he's innocent, he's lost his mind completely if he chooses to go forward without professional representation." Most witnesses to the trial would agree._

 _The Ministry's prosecutor brought forth dozens of witnesses, among them a large number of Voldemort's former supporters, who testified to Professor Snape's presence at key meetings, as well as his individual private consultations with the Dark Lord. Inconveniently lacking, however, was any direct evidence that he had murdered anyone by his own spellwork, curses, or poisons. Among the Wizengamot, there was considerable debate as to the trustworthiness of the witnesses as a whole, given that most of them hoped to trade their testimony for reduced sentences. Kingsley Shacklebolt, considered by many to be on the short list to be the next Minister of Magic following Rufus Scrimgeour, noted Snape's contributions to the Order of the Phoenix, a group of opponents of the Dark Lord and Death Eaters that included Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Emmeline Vance, Arabella Figg, Molly Weasley, and Arthur Weasley among others in their number. As to the other charges, it seemed there was ample evidence to convict._

 _The defendant, however, declined to call any witnesses, nor to speak on his own behalf. His silence brought forth accusations of contempt of court and calls for his forced testimony under Veratiserum. A visibly agitated Lead Inquisitor Cornelius Fudge (former Minister of Magic) denied the motion, though it is not clear if this was because it was felt to be poor form or due to a lack of supply._

 _Despite not being invited by either the prosecution or the defense, one Harry Potter chose to insert himself into the proceedings, arriving noisily in the afternoon. During the considerable scuffle that followed, the accused refused to call him for his defense, so the prosecution, in an unusual move, allowed Mr. Potter to speak on their behalf. During nearly two hours of testimony, during which Professor Snape remained mute, Mr. Potter rejected claims that the professor worked in allegiance with Voldemort and instead brought forth testimony of numerous instances when the professor was seen to protect students, himself in particular, defeat the Dark Lord's plans, and instead pass on inaccurate information. Mr. Potter cast Professor Snape in the role of double agent, whose allegiances, as shown by actions, were with Dumbledore and against the Dark Lord and his followers. When offered the opportunity to cross-examine the witness, Professor Snape declined._

 _After several hours of conference, a courtesy rarely extended by the Wizengamot, the verdict was not guilty of the more serious charges, but guilty of Encouragement of the Dark Arts, by way of his allowing this under Alecto and Amycus Carrow during his time as Headmaster of Hogwarts. However, the sentencing was the subject of a great deal of controversy. Despite the guilty verdict on a relatively minor charge, Professor Snape was given 50 years of probation and the immediate confiscation of his fortune. Professor Snape will also retain his position as Hogwarts' Headmaster, with Ministry oversight of an as yet undisclosed nature._

 _Needless to say, this controversial outcome resulted in riots among the observers to the trial, from wizards and witches on both sides of the war. The curses, hexes, and jinxes lodged at the members of the Wizengamot were readily deflected, and their sources not identifiable. The Wizengamot has not commented on what drove this highly unusual outcome, but speculation abounds. Some have suggested the Professor has a great deal of information on the members of the Wizengamot itself that would be uncomfortable or embarrassing if known. Others who did not wish to be quoted on the record noted that the former Potions Master will now be in a far less advantageous position as Hogwarts' Headmaster than Minerva McGonagall, allowing them influence over the development of wizards and witches in the future, in contrast to the rather lax oversight from the Ministry during the Dumbledore years. Still others were overheard to wonder if the confiscation of Professor Snape's fortune, rumored to be substantial, following as it does in the wake of many such exchanges of money for lighter sentences, allows the Ministry to rebuilt its coffers, which were raided and emptied during the takeover of the Ministry by Dark Wizards and Witches before and during the war. The ongoing accusations of the personal enrichment of higher Ministry officials from the treasury will remain the subject of a future report._

 _It remains to be seen what the sentence will mean to the Magical community, Hogwarts, and to Professor Snape himself. Given his silence, the truth may never come to light. In the meantime, it has been conjectured that Hogwarts may resume operations on the usual schedule, despite the scale of rebuilding necessary._

Hermione shook her head at this confusing article, wishing she had known about the trial in advance, wishing she could have testified on Snape's behalf. But what would she say that had not already been said? She continued to thumb through the paper, noting the ads in the margins from Hogwarts, asking both for funds from alumni, as well as participation in rebuilding efforts ("all magical assistance welcomed") signed by Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall.

Harry and Ron were relaxing at the Burrow, reading the latest edition of Quidditch Weekly hungrily, now that professional Quidditch had resumed. The teams were somewhat reorganized, given the emigration of a number of players and the wholesale destruction of at least one stadium, but a full season of play had been announced, with rosters being newly updated every week. Ron nearly ripped the magazine from Mrs. Weasley's hands with each new edition, so she'd given the task of delivery to Ginny, who was more likely to read it herself before passing it along, most often to scowls for the delay.

Ginny appeared in the doorway to the attic room that Ron and Harry shared. "Yo, gents, mail call. There's a note for Harry, looks official, and here's the latest Quidditch weekly." They each took the offered items, Ron snapping that the weekly should have been there two days ago.

"It was, Ron, but I was reading it," said Ginny, to Ron's renewed protests. "What's yours, Harry?"

Harry noted the seal of Hogwarts and wondered what the item could be. He'd missed all of the previous year, but hadn't really known what to think of for the coming one. With Dumbledore gone and Snape as the Headmaster, it wasn't the same school at all, according to what he'd heard. But there were reasons for that, reasons that were clear now when they hadn't been at the time.

"Dunno," said Harry. "It's from Hogwarts."

He opened it and read the flowery script aloud to Ginny and Ron.

"On behalf of the staff and faculty of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I extend an invitation to those students who were in their seventh year previously to return to the school for the coming year, in order to properly complete their education, N.E.W.T.s, and therefore qualify for the appropriate diplomas and certifications. In addition to the traditional course of study, the eighth educational year will also include a series of apprenticeship opportunities." The letter went on to describe the deeply discounted tuition, room, and board, as well as to include a response card, none of which Harry bothered to read aloud.

"Blimey," said Ron, pulling at his hair. "Another year of school?! They should give us college degrees at this point. I mean, if we haven't proven ourselves yet, what could some stupid N.E.W.T.s or a diploma do for us?"

Ginny sat down on Ron's bed opposite Harry. "Well, for one thing, most colleges, jobs, and apprenticeships require an actual diploma to qualify, so that's a start. And what were you planning to do this coming year, anyhow, Ron? Lie around, let mum feed you and watch Quidditch matches?"

"Seems like I've earned that, I think," he shot back.

"Well, then, we all have. But let's get back to some reality. There will be a lot of students competing for the same job you want, and mom will kick you out after a while, or at least make you start doing your own laundry." Ron's snort was ill-timed, as Mrs. Weasley had appeared in the hall not long before, and was not looking too pleased at the moment.

"Well, I think that's a capital idea, Ginny, what with Ron having so much time on his hands lately. You can start with your socks, which are starting to walk off on their own." At this, several of Ron's socks which had been wandering off immediately dropped to the floor, playing dead in a futile attempt to avoid the washer. Mrs. Weasley waved a letter in her hand that looked remarkably similar to the one Harry had just read. "By the way, I've just gotten this note from Hogwarts. I think it's an excellent offer and I'll be sending the card back with the first owl I can find. I expect that you will finish your education properly and not go running off to George's shop."

"He already asked and George wouldn't have him," Ginny piped up, Ron throwing her daggers. "Strangely, he expected him to actually do work, so you'll have his help with laundry for at least the rest of the summer."

Ron aimed a pillow at Ginny's head, which she easily dodged, as Mrs. Weasley retreated down the stairs.

Later, after he could hear Ron's snoring begin, Harry took his letter out to re-read. At the bottom, in an old-fashioned formal script obviously not in the same hand as the main body of the letter, was a personal note. "Mr. Potter - It would certainly be in your best interests to complete your education. I hope you will consider it. S.S." This was probably the warmest thing Harry had ever heard or read from Severus Snape.

Harry lay back in his comfortable bed at the Burrow. What were his interests, apart from Ginny and Quidditch? He had considered being an Auror previously, but wasn't sure really how that career path worked. It would do to find out. Mr. Weasley probably knew some things about that. Or could set him up with someone who did. Lupin would have been good to ask, as well.

He hadn't mentioned to Ron or Hermione or anyone else how he was feeling lately. It seemed inappropriate to mention the emptiness in him, given that he was at least living. As Ron, Ginny, and their family attempted to find some kind of new normal, he felt adrift and alone, despite the Weasley's being as warm and welcoming as anyone he could imagine. Certainly more so than any family he'd had since he was a baby.

He was deeply missing Sirius just now, as that was the person who he'd want to talk with the most. Thinking of Sirius only expanded the emptiness. If he did go back and finish officially at Hogwarts, what would he study? Defense Against the Dark Arts, certainly, though it was anyone's guess who might teach now. Otherwise, what? He surely didn't qualify for Advanced Potions, he thought with a laugh. He'd opted out of Arithmancy several years ago. Transfiguration would be on the schedule, as well as Charms. History of Magic would probably need to be updated, and he'd lived most of it, so that didn't seem necessary. Astronomy might be interesting. Maybe Advanced Care of Magical Creatures, but only if Hagrid were teaching. Herbology? Divination (nope)? Runes? He couldn't even muster a reasonably full schedule, given his utter lack of interest. And what were the "apprenticeship opportunities?" Surely he'd had enough experience lately, though what kind of job these kinds of experiences led to was anyone's guess.

Legilimency and Occlumency, now those would be excellent classes, he thought. He had never mastered Occlumency, despite Snape's attempts, mostly due to his own opposition to his teacher. If he went back, would Snape teach him this most advanced skill? And he had never even considered Legilimency, though he managed some insights briefly into Snape's mind. How it happened, he wasn't sure. He didn't really have control over it. And his being able to see Voldemort's mind was only dim, usually visual, and never what he was planning, only what he was seeing and feeling. He realized yet again, as he had some many times over the past weeks, how truly skilled Severus Snape was. And the degree to which he had squandered opportunities to learn from him. At least he'd had the opportunity to testify on his behalf at his trial, though Snape departed quickly afterward, and as silently as he had been during the proceedings.

But where was it all going, he wondered? Now that Voldemort was defeated and most of his followers having given up the cause (the rest being in Azkaban), what would he do as an Auror? Root out Underage Magic? Go after skips on the Knight Bus? Staring down the future, none of which seemed interesting from his current vantage point, Harry made up his mind to head back to Hogwarts in the fall. He fell asleep thinking of that it would at least be nice to spend another year with Ginny, hopefully having a normal, uneventful year and that he would make up his mind about the rest of his life later.


	5. Chapter 5: Staffing

**Good day, readers. Thank you for your continued support. I've got a few more chapters ready, which I will upload quickly. I'd love to know some of your favorite other stories. I am always looking for fun things to read, when I can't write.**

The Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress were in deep debate.

"I'm just a supportive as you are of adding Occlumency and Legilimency to the class offerings for the older students, Severus, but I can't see how you'll manage this teaching load. You'll be teaching for nearly 20 hours a week, with little time for grading and the work of the Headmaster and Head of Slytherin house. And I am already doing all I can as Deputy, Head of House, and teaching Transfiguration. Directing the rebuilding and conducting the fundraising campaign is taking all my time, Headmaster!" she insisted.

"I would certainly take on more of those duties if I were able to independently meet with builders and donors outside Hogwarts, but you know as well as I do that is not possible. It would just mean both of us going on the visits," Snape said testily.

Minerva McGonagall sighed and sat down opposite the large oak desk, now bare of the Magical Devices which now whirred or spun on shelves and in cabinets elsewhere in the room. "I know. However, that doesn't create more time for me to do additional teaching, nor does it add hours to your day, either. And the regular use of the Timeturner presents risks of its own. I simply can't see how you can manage all that and do well, especially if you are not yet back to 100%," she said, now with concern in her voice. "Perhaps you might consider giving Head of Slytherin House to Professor Sinistra? That would be at least some time back to you."

Snape wasn't sure which of her comments was more irksome, the suggestion that he step down as a Head of Slytherin, or that he had yet to return to his full ability.

Giving up his leadership of Slytherin House was impossible, especially in these delicate times. Slytherin was well-known (and deservedly so) as the Hogwarts House that produced the most Dark Wizards and Witches, and it would be imperative this year to begin with strong leadership. Not to mention how much he enjoyed exerting substantial influence over disciplinary decisions. To remove that responsibility would take away one of the few joys remaining to him. Celeste Sinistra would do well, and he considered her taking over the position in the future.

The work of the Headmaster, redesigning the course of study, hiring and overseeing the staff, directing the rebuilding, guiding fundraising, and guiding the school overall, was richly satisfying to him. Especially the budget, which he was not able to relinquish even a portion of, even to Minerva, to her vocal consternation. He understood well that she considered this a deep insult to her, but certain issues needed to be managed in a more discreet fashion.

Teaching Occlumency and Legilimency was an innovation that thrilled him. No Magical school in the world offered this, except at the collegiate level. This would set Hogwarts apart, and incidentally himself as Headmaster and instructor. Ever since his individual lessons with Potter, he had weighed the risks both of teaching this skill, as well as the risks of not teaching it. He knew of few other skilled Occlumens or Legilimens still living, and fewer still who would be available to teach, given that most of those known to have this skill were recruited by the Ministry for the Interrogations Office of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. But there were others who weren't known, as this skill was one often kept to oneself, for obvious reasons. All the more reason to teach both skills.

That left Potions. Blast. As much as he hated to consider taking any lesser a role in the development of this subtle art among developing witches and wizards, this was probably the one area of his responsibilities for which it was even possible to consider options.

He leaned across the array of parchments scattered over his desk. Finding what he was looking for, he noted to McGonagall, in as conciliatory a tone as possible, so that it would be clear to her both that he was only agreeing with her under duress, and that she was right (which would please her ego to no end), he said "Very well, I will send out a call for an Assistant Professor for Potions and split my class load there. I'll retain only Advanced Potions, which should free up a good portion of my class time. Would that please you, Deputy Headmistress?" he drawled formally.

McGonagall huffed in reply. "That will reduce your class load, Severus, but I can't imagine how we will afford to pay another person. The rebuilding is very expensive, given the extent of the damage and the quality you have insisted upon, the fundraising campaign is limping along, you're now paying the house elves…"

Snape cut her off. "They fought for Hogwarts just like the rest of us, Minerva. They deserve their freedom and that means they must be paid," he said sharply, perhaps more so than was necessary.

McGonagall sat up straighter and looked him squarely in the eyes. "I don't disagree on that point, Headmaster. My point is that this cost must come from some kind of budget. You've even reduced tuition this year! I may not be your Arithmancy professor, but I can't see how we will be able to sustain this."

The headmaster rubbed the bridge of his nose as he sat back. Of course she was right, but being able to offer a Hogwarts education to any young witch or wizard, regardless of the parents' means, was foundational. He shuddered to think what his own life would have been without Hogwarts. How his own parents had managed the cost was a mystery to him and something he gave little thought to as a boy, being only too happy to be away from home. His life was woeful enough having graduated under Dumbledore; with no direction at all, it was difficult to picture any outcome other than an early death after a great deal more destruction. How many other young witches and wizards would face being a freak and outcast in the Muggle world, hiding their abilities from a society that viewed such talents only as a threat? He knew well the outcomes of whose talents were suppressed, and it was rarely happy, for the wizard or witch, and those around them.

"The budget will allow only a single school year for an Assistant Professor. We'll have to reassess the budget next year, once the rebuilding is more complete and the changes to the finances are more clearly known," he said tiredly. "And it is to be hoped your fund-raising appeals have their intended effect. Perhaps you could host a party with some more well-off families and spike the punch with Elixir of Aurodon. I'd be happy to assist."

McGongall replied silently with a look of reproach to his last comment and instead continued her previous line of inquiry. "Who do you expect to accept a one-year Assistant Professorship, Severus? Surely no one with experience. You'll likely have to spend as much time teaching them to be a teacher as it would take you to teach yourself!" Minerva said heatedly.

Snape knew she was probably right on this count, as well, but there was nothing to be done. He nodded, but gestured to his scribe.

"Bina, please distribute a notice that I am seeking an Assistant Potions Professor for a one-year term in as many national and international publications as you know of. Madam Pince may be helpful in tracking down more," he said resignedly. It was worth an effort, though it was likely to be fruitless. And when Minerva McGonagall heard the salary that he was offering, she was certain it would be fruitless.

By mid-July, Minerva McGonagall placed on Snape's desk a tall stack of parchments.

"I was shocked by the response we received to our posting. It would seem that there is a great deal more interest in teaching here than we previously imagined," she said primly.

"You've done at least a preliminary review, Minerva, I trust?" Snape said pointedly. The prospect of reviewing some 50 or more resumes was vexatious to him, given the habit of enhancing, inflation, and outright lying that was now customary on job applications from so many witches and wizards.

McGonagall gave him a scathing look. "Of course I have, Severus. I've narrowed it down to four." She was greeted with an unusual look that might have hinted at gratitude as he took the small handful of parchments from her hand.

Taking the first, he skimmed the document. "Arnolf Svennson. Potion-maker and owner of Arnie's Potions in Stockholm. No research credentials, no teaching experience, and no publications, other than an opinion piece on the merits of deregulating the importation of foreign ingredients. Interesting," he said slowly, putting the parchment aside. If this wizard made the last four, what must the other applicants have been? Nearly unable to brew tea? His initial pleasure at seeing interest in his position quantified now gave way to the possibility that every crank or crackpot in the unstable post-war period was looking for a chance at a more predictable and stable position. Perhaps they hadn't bothered to notice it was a single-year appointment.

The next. "Arline Mackson, currently Assistant Potions teacher at the Fielding School. No research, no publications. Remind me, what is the Fielding School?"

"It's a school for… well," McGonagall said hesitantly. Finally, she said, "squibs."

A school for the non-magical children of witches and wizards. Sadly, such children were usually the object of shame and embarrassment. Snape had forgotten that there was a school just for such children, to see if any magic resided in them. There were occasional transfers into Hogwart of such students, but it was uncommon. Typically, they were integrated into Muggle schools as smoothly as possible and at as young an age as possible, to protect them from feeling inadequate. But it was difficult to imagine that the teaching experience there would prepare one for teaching at Hogwarts. He placed this, too, face down on his desk, with foreboding. Two more and these first two were abysmal.

The third. "Morgan Hunter, previously Potions Professor at the Sedona School, U.S.A." Here, Snape stopped reading aloud. It simply wasn't possible. Morgan Hunter was one of the foremost Potions Masters in the world, with an armload of impressive publications and research to his name.

Minerva sat quietly for a moment, watching the incredulity gather on Snape's face. "I noticed this one, too," she noted understatedly.

"It simply isn't possible, Minerva. This must be either a mistake or a poorly-executed prank," he said, still looking at the parchment, which scrolled down into his lap with a long list of teaching, speaking engagements, and publications.

"I thought so, too, Headmaster, so I took it upon myself to verify and it is authentic. Morgan Hunter, with his world-wide reputation, is interested in our position."

It was difficult to grasp. What would this most esteemed Potions Master from the Sedona School want with a one-year assistantship at Hogwarts, most decidedly a demotion? Well, that would be Dr. Hunter's question to answer.

"Bina," Snape ordered. "Write up an official offer for Dr. Hunter from the Sedona School. Ask the housekeeping staff to prepare a second Potions classroom somewhere in the dungeons and locate and prepare him a suitable apartment. Minerva, add him to the Sorting List with the new students."

"Don't you want to look at the last applicant?" the Deputy Headmistress said, insisting on good form and process.

Snape grabbed the last of the four parchments from her hand. Giving it a cursory review, he said "Lakshmi Navashankar. Never heard of her." He tossed her parchment onto the pile with the others, still holding the parchment from Hunter in his hand like it was a precious artifact. "Morgan Hunter. He'll be an excellent addition to the staff," Snape said with more smugness that he would have wanted known. The internationally-known Potions Master wanted to join the staff of Hogwarts, under Headmaster Severus Snape, noted Potions Master in his own right. At last, he had something to look forward to other than more laboratory accidents from klutzy students and grading uninspiring essays.

For the remainder of the summer, as he went about his work, refining lesson plans, overseeing the builders, meeting with his staff, and otherwise preparing the school for the fall, Snape was more pleased than usual. He would have a peer to work with, one with an international reputation. Their correspondence had established Dr. Hunter's teaching responsibilities (underclass Potions), a significant research plan, and his invitations to speak at several of the Magical Schools of Europe throughout the year. The reputation of Hogwarts would be raised considerably and Snape's own list of research publications undoubtedly lengthened by their collaboration. And to be associated as a peer with Dr. Morgan Hunter would probably also do wonders for the fundraising needs of the school. Perhaps he could encourage Dr. Hunter to accompany McGonagall on her visits to the wealthy families of Britain, to add additional gravitas to her appeals.

Stop this ridiculous daydreaming, he chided himself. It's a waste of time and there are more important things with which to occupy your mind.

That being said, the images of the two Potions Masters, debating research approaches and co-writing papers was so pleasant, he found himself returning to them regularly. He had driven Madam Pince nearly mad requesting every book she had on North American and New World Potions, even those from the Restricted Section that required the use of highly-regulated ingredients. Perhaps Arnolf Svennson was right about deregulating importation, after all. Perhaps he should have given that fellow a little more credit.


	6. Chapter 6: Morgan Hunter

The summer was drawing to a close, the days growing shorter and the nights longer. In the final week before term, Snape put the finishing touches on his lesson plans, finished his updated reading on Potions of the New World and Dark Magic from the New World and returned the books to the library. His research plans to combine traditional potions with New World formulas were extensive and had provided an ongoing focus to combat his habit of dwelling on his past, the war, and the emptiness he had envisioned for his future.

On his way back to the Headmaster's office, he took a detour down to the dungeon and walked by his old office, shortly to be Dr. Morgan Hunter's office, with feelings mixed between wistfulness (a useless emotion) at vacating this dark room in the dungeon in which he'd spent many a productive hour brewing, studying, reading, and grading, and a gnawing discomfiture at the pending arrival of the highly-esteemed Hunter. At least he retained his classroom for Advanced Potions and his storeroom. He slowed as he approached his old office, curiously noting the open door and light spilling into the corridor. He had removed the Charms from the locks, but the house elves had completed their preparations more than a week ago. As he passed slowly by, however, he was surprised to see a small young witch, obviously a student, dressed in a elaborately-embroidered turquiose robe (not even close to an appropriate uniform!), digging through the shelves, her long hair braided down her back. Most likely a 5th- or 6th-year student, but not one he recognized.

Snape's low voice carried through the nearly empty office, menace infused in every syllable. "Who do you think you are, rummaging through the Potion Master's office, young lady? I suggest you get yourself upstairs and into your uniform. Now."

The small witch straightened sharply at his voice, but kept her back to him. "I am Professor Morgan Hunter, thank you. The Deputy Headmistress assigned me this office." She turned, with a playful smirk on her face. "And whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?" she grinned, extending a hand enthusiastically as she strode towards him, her highly fashionable and clearly expensive silk robes fluttering as she came forward.

Snape choked slightly and attempted to regain his composure. THIS was the famous Morgan Hunter? This tiny witch with tanned brown skin, dark hair in braids like a schoolgirl, and these garish robes? He extended his hand cautiously to meet hers. "Severus Snape, Headmaster. Apologies, Professor Hunter. I had no idea you'd be….."

Morgan Hunter released his hand, but returned his gaze with a solid, firm, and unyielding stare. "A Witch?" she said.

"So short," Snape replied, though the brief rise in color in his pale face told her that she's been on target.

She smiled half-way at his obvious faux pas. "Well, I am that. I'll probably need a stool or a ladder to fill up these shelves, or else wear out my wand." She gestured helplessly at her large collection of trunks, all polished leather stamped with ornate alchemical designs and bright brass fittings, and then to the upper shelves. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Headmaster Snape. Your name seemed familiar to me, have we met before?" she asked, eyeing him with her uncomfortably steady gaze.

"I would have remembered you if we had," Snape replied, perhaps with more of a snap than he'd intended. He continued, taking more care to keep his tone at least cordial as his mind reeled, attempting to digest this most unexpected turn of circumstance. He fought through the fog to see the need to establish a good working relationship with a new staff member. "No, I don't think so. Perhaps you are thinking of our correspondence around your publication of a novel formulation for a Paralyzing Powder a few years' back." He recalled the exchange with some degree of satisfaction, as he made note of some errors in the publication and had the opportunity to have corrections provided.

Dr. Hunter took a moment to think, her index finger tapping her chin as she did so, her smile widening with dawning recall. "I guess that is so. It was a dreadful mistake the publisher made there. Nearly cost me my reputation! I got a few reports of uncontrollable laughter back on the incorrect formula." She suddenly grew serious, taking a step closer to him, needing to tilt her neck quite a bit to match the gaze of the much taller man. "I hope that didn't happen to you, did it?" Imagining uncontrollable giggles from this darkly serious and stiff man nearly brought _her_ to giggles.

"Hardly," he replied, with no trace of humor. "I could tell from the preparation instructions that something was wrong, even without needing to make the end product. Cracking tarantunuts destroys their paralytic properties, but enhances the giggling potential," he noted drily.

Morgan Hunter laughed out loud, the sound echoing off the hard stone walls. "Indeed, it does. I had more than a few laughs imagining the scene in potions labs with that mix-up. But the publisher took the well-deserved blame. Made changes to the proofs after I'd approved them. Well, nevermind about that. So, I admit I'm a little confused. If your skills lie in potion-making, and here you are, what am I doing here?"

"As I am now Headmaster, I have additional responsibilities that preclude me from teaching a full class load. Hence, the need for additional staff to cover the introductory years. I will continue to teach Advanced Potions to our 7th and 8th years, however, as well as independent study for those _few_ students whose talents merit … additional investment."

Hunter found it difficult to hide her irritation at being reminded she was being assigned only the lower grades, but did her best at remaining impassive. "Excellent. It will be good to have a capable peer," she said. "I am hoping to have time for our research on combining New World and Old World formulas."

"I'll be pleased to review your research proposals before you begin," said the headmaster.

Hunter frowned. "No disrespect intended, headmaster, but is that really necessary? Despite my...shortness...my credentials surely suggest a degree of competence that precludes a preliminary review," she said evenly, despite her desire to scoff and cross her arms tensely.

Snape appeared taken aback by her assertive reply. "No disrespect taken, Dr. Hunter. I assumed that it is common in the United States that collaborators typically review research proposals and comment. Are you more accustomed to working in isolation, then?" This was certainly his own style, but he was familiar with the more typical practice of research.

Yet again, color rose on the new Potions Mistress' face as she chided herself. Of course, she berated herself, he doesn't need to look at the proposal as her supervisor. He is thinking as a peer. Careful, she warned herself. No sense making an enemy before you even start. "Actually, yes, but only because I have never had a capable peer before." Now she allowed a fuller smile. "I'm looking forward to our collaboration."

"Excellent," Snape said. "I'll review your proposal while you review mine. I'll have it on your desk by the end of the first week of classes. Now I need to attend to business. Good day, Dr. Hunter," he said curtly, then turned quickly and vanished down the hall before she had a chance to reply.

Hunter found herself rather relieved to see him go, as the conversation had been anything but relaxing, welcoming, or warm. She sat and considered this first meeting with her supervisor. She was clearly not what he'd been expecting, but that was his problem. He was interested in research, but with what approach, she would need to wait to see, as he clearly wasn't planning to rattle on about it now.

She looked around the dark and cramped office, wishing her location had been a sunnier one upstairs, rather than here in the dungeons, where even the beautiful sunlight of an August day couldn't reach. And her apartment, conveniently close to the office and classroom, had but small windows that let in barely any light or fresh air. Perhaps she would request a move, once she'd gotten a little more of the lay of the land here, to somewhere at faced south. Looking at her trunks, still mostly full despite the crowding on the shelves, she sighed and returned to unpacking, thinking of the year. One year, that's all she had. She'd better make the best of it. Though she'd hoped to find her mind free of the troubles of the past, despite the distance, the thoughts still ran through her head, though quieter than before. Intentionally and with effort, she pulled her mind from the past and set it to future, laying out plans. One step at a time.


	7. Chapter 7: First Night

The Platform 9 ¾ was far more crowded than usual, with another years' worth of students, trunks, and owls assembled there. Families elbowed their way through the crowds, pushing trolleys, giving final hugs and kisses, and dragging along reluctant students with promises that school would be different from last year.

"But Snape's still Headmaster!" cried a young girl, maybe a 2nd- or 3rd-year, clinging to her father and refusing to mount the stairs to the Hogwarts Express.

"Sweetheart," her father said, squatting down to her eye-level. "There's a new Potions professor for the younger students. And I heard that Professor Snape was actually on our side in the war."

"He's mean!" she replied, unconvinced and petulant.

"War does strange things to people, Amarantha. But it's over now, Voldemort and his followers are defeated, and things will be fine." She didn't appear convinced. "The Ministry of Magic is watching Headmaster Snape carefully. Anything untoward and he's out. And the Carrows are gone, too. Besides, how will you learn to be a strong witch to stand up to Dark Magic if you don't go?"

With this last piece of persuasion, she attempted to square her small shoulders and lifted her chin and reluctantly allowed herself to be put on the train and her trunk stowed for the journey.

Hermione arrived but without her parents (they'd never been able to find the platform before and this year was no exception), running forward to give Ron, Harry and Ginny a collective hug before grabbing Ron's hand and not letting go, despite his glowing red face.

"Let's board," she said. "It'll be extra crowded this year, so let's find a car before they are all filled up."

Harry had been dreading the train, expecting everyone to embarrass him with congratulations and admiration. Except for Malfoy. From him, he didn't know what to expect; the typical derision or some degree of at least begrudging respect. He needn't have worried, as his and Malfoy's paths didn't cross. Pansy Parkinson boarded and walked past, but seemed not to know what to do, so she remained silent and moved on with her pack of Slytherin girls, Most everyone just gave him, Ron, and Hermione a wave, a handshake, or a back slap, and moved on, for which he was grateful. The four of them found an empty compartment and got settled in. As the train began to move and accelerate northward, talk turned to the coming year, subjects, teachers, and the headmaster. Harry, Ron, and Hermione quizzed Ginny on what it was like the previous year, but she declined to offer judgement or speculate about the coming year. "Snape was just barely managing to hang on, what with the Ministry people there and the Death Eaters circling. Of course it was horrible, not knowing where you guys were, terrible things happening every day. This year can only be better, no matter what."

On this point, they all agreed. Harry pondered aloud as to what the "apprenticeship" part of their year would be.

"I asked my parents about that. In dental school, that was where they started to actually do procedures and things, like work in a clinic," Hermione said. "Maybe we'll be starting working in the jobs we are thinking of."

Ron scoffed. "I've done enough already. I'm ready to just cruise through the year. I mean, they can't bloody well fail us now, right?"

"I wouldn't bet on it, Ron," Ginny said. "Despite everything that was going on last year, there were still classes, homework, and grades. And the letter said this would complete your education. Besides, if you flunk out or quit like Fred and George, mom and dad will kick you out AND you won't have anyone to wash your socks."

Ron rolled his eyes, as Harry laughed. "So, what do you guys think you want to do after Hogwarts? College, jobs, or what?"

Hermione spoke first. "I think I might try for being a Healer at St. Mungo's, but I'm also considering studying history more."

Ron snorted. "You could replace Binns, if anyone could convince him he's dead."

Ginny said "I'm thinking of working for the Ministry, maybe in the Department of Muggle Relations, like dad." Harry hadn't heard her say this before. "After a stint on the Chudley Cannons, of course," she added. That's more what I expected, thought Harry.

Hermione said "What about you, Ron?"

Ron considered his answer, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "After a few seasons on the Cannons, I'll probably get recruited to the national team." They all laughed at this, as Ron's face reddened. "But at some point I suppose I'd need to retire. Perhaps I'll be in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. But opening a Quidditch shop is my back-up plan."

"Very ambitious, Ron," Hermione said, the reproof in her voice softened. "And what about you, Harry?"

Harry had actually given it a lot of thought, more than the others knew. "Well," he said expansively, "after my retirement from the British National Quidditch team, I'll probably be an Auror for a time before embarking on a long career teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. Before being killed in an unfortunate duel gone bad."

They all laughed at this and enjoyed the remainder of the train trip north. Harry stared out the window, thinking that he almost sounded like he believed what he was saying. In truth, little of what he'd said held a lot interest to him, though the Quidditch part at least brought some bit of hope to his future.

As usual, they disembarked from the train, their trunks having been loaded on carriages and their passenger carriages, pulled by thestrals waiting. The lively mood on the train brought on by reuniting with friends turned quiet and somber. Now they could all see the skeletal horses, as could many of the other students, but no one spoke of what they'd been through to make this so. No one needed to. The night was clear with thousands of stars sparkling overhead as the great castle at last came in to view. The damage from the war was still clearly visible in the bright moonlight, with some walls still broken and the new repairs clearly contrasting with the ancient parts of the structure. Some windows were still missing, though this wasn't critical in the warm summer air. Come fall, though, and it would be all wool robes and hats if their repair wasn't completed by then.

They entered the Great Hall and quickly found their house tables, meeting with warm congratulations again from those they hadn't yet seen on the train. The first-year students, an unusually large class, nearly twice the size of those before, filed in the back and waited, with wide eyes and shaking knees. Where they would go was anyone's guess, as the presence of 8th-year students filled the house tables even before the new students joined them. A few students for each higher year were also gathered, which was unusual. McGonagall and Sprout herded them like frightened sheep, even the older students. "This way, new students," said McGonagall. "And you, too, Miss Ames," she said to a considerably older student who was with the others. The remaining staff was at the head table, except for Snape.

Hermione whispered, "Where's Professor Snape? I wonder if he's still not recovered?"

"Yeah," Ron said. "Probably takes a long time to get over being dead."

Harry said "I wonder who the new staff is. There's at least 3 new professors up there."

Luna Lovegood leaned in. "One of them is the new Potions professor. She's American. She's the one with the long braid."

"And there's a new 7th-year student back there, new to the school," Neville said, gesturing slightly with his head. "She's here for Advanced Potions with Snape. American, too," he noted.

At the quizzical looks from the others, Neville blushed. "She was in my carriage on the train," he said. "Seemed the decent thing to introduce myself."

"Nevermind that she's drop-dead gorgeous," Ginny smirked. "No, it was just the gentlemanly thing to do."

Neville smiled wryly. "And I am ever the gentleman, as you well know, Ginny." Harry sent him daggers, but Neville only grinned back.

"Was she nice, Neville?" Hermione asked.

"Very," he said, blushing only slightly. "I wonder what house she'll be in."

"Hoping for Gryffindor, no doubt," Ginny said with a smirk, but she was thinking the same thing. It would be nice to have someone new in the house, someone who might talk about something other than the previous year. And an American, someone exotic.

Sprout and McGonagall had just herded the first years and the other new students aside, as the twin doors into the Great Hall burst open, and the Headmaster strode forcefully up the main aisle toward the head table, his black robe flowing behind him. The rumble of chatter died quickly to silence. Harry was the first to stand and applaud, followed by the rest of the Gryffindor table, then by Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, the Slytherin applause decidedly muted. Snape gave no signs of noticing, but continued to the dias, turning on his heel to face the room.

Just as the applause died down, Ron said "Looks just as scary as ever," which seemed to travel over the heads of the others and right into Snape's ear, who glared directly at him.

Snape's voice, always penetrating, enforcing silence whenever he spoke, was the same as ever. From that point forward, there was no talking or whispering in the Hall and every student, even those new-comers now cowering in fear in the back, heard every word as clearly as if they had been on the front row.

"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am Headmaster Severus Snape," he said crisply. Snape went on to introduce the staff, many of whom were well-known to those in the upper grades. Binns was still teaching History of Magic, Sprout was still in Herbology, Hagrid had been retained for Care of Magical Creatures, Trelawney still for Divination, Babbling for Runes, Vector for Arithmancy, Sinistra for Astronomy, McGonagall for Transfiguration, Flitwick for Charms. The new teachers were Doctor Morgan Hunter for Potions and Hestia Jones for Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Just as Ginny whispered "A new Potions professor? Snape continued to teach last year," Snape announced "I will continue to teach Advanced Potions, which is now required for all 7th and 8th year students." Harry nearly groaned simply from reflex, but thought the better of it, considering how useful the knowledge had been lately. But there were audible groans from many in the Hall, despite the general admiration of the Headmaster based on the stories told by those who had fought in the Battle of Hogwarts. It was one thing to admire the man for his acts, but another altogether to endure his classes and the inevitable detentions that few managed to avoid.

"Wow," said Luna. "How about Dr. Hunter's robes? That green shade is right off the runways."

"And that hat! Wow. A little fashion sense wouldn't hurt this place," added Ginny with admiration. Hermione nodded, watching the beautiful young witch as she chatted with the older staff witches nearby.

Harry looked at the first-year and new upper-year students. Even with the kindly and elderly Professor Dumbledore as the Master of Ceremonies, the first night at Hogwarts and the Sorting were terrifying. But with the tall, dark Snape biting off every word and his domineering presence, it was certain that at least a dozen of them would likely simply faint. It had happened before.

As the Sorting began, Ron leaned over to Harry. "Oy, we were never that little, were we? They look like tiny shrimps." Hermione overheard, but said nothing in rebuke. Surely they were never that small? Ginny snorted whenever another student passed out from fear. This year it was 11. "That sets a new high bar for the first night. Snape will need to be more intimidating next year if he wants to top this," she noted.

"Maybe he'll hire back the Carrows once their probation is over," Neville added.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were forced to grin at the thought of the terrible pair herding the gaggle of small first-years, imagining most of them passed out or hexed before they even reached the hall. Harry considered it a remarkable recovery that Neville was able to make a joke about the vengeful Death Eater teachers from the previous year.

After the students were sorted and the tables were magically stretched to accommodate them, Snape stood again. Harry and Ron had hoped for a cheery "Dig in," a la Dumbledore, but they were to be disappointed.

"As you know, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor is a graduate of Hogwarts, from Hufflepuff House. Our new Potions Mistress, Dr. Morgan Hunter, comes to us from the United States and will also be sorted into a House, if for no other reason than to define her Quidditch loyalty," Snape said indifferently.

Hunter stared at Snape uncomfortably for a longer moment than one would expect if this event had been known to her in advance. She handed her large feathered hat to Professor Sinistra and stood. Recovering, she strode smartly to the Sorting Chair and had the old, ragged hat placed on her head. A hush befell the room, as no student present had even seen an adult, never mind a teacher, undergo Sorting. The hat took its time, as the everyone sat silently, barely breathing.

At last, the Hat called out "Ravenclaw." The Ravenclaws cheered, Professor Flitwick applauded more loudly than necessary, while the other tables booed their disappointment. A bronze brooch with blue feathers appeared on Dr. Hunter's shoulder as she returned, delightedly smiling, to the staff table.

After the feast was over and Harry, Hermione, and Ron returned to Gryffindor tower with the new students, Ron said tiredly "That speech was probably longer than every speech Dumbledore ever gave put together. I think Snape was pleased to be starving us all to death."

At this, Hermione couldn't argue, but in his defense said "There have been a lot of changes since last year, a lot of new things we all needed to know."

Harry intoned "Yeah, like we all have to take Advanced Potions and undergo career counseling. But we still don't know about the apprenticeship part of things. So basically, we got all the bad news, with none of the good."

Once they reached the portrait hole and gave the new password to the Fat Lady (gillyweed), they entered the Gryffindor common room, which by now had a roaring warm fire going and an even warmer greeting for them. At long last, they felt free to share their fears from the past year and acknowledge how grateful they truly were to be together once more, though for the last year at school. Late into the night, despite having classes beginning in the morning, stories were shared. Harry made sure Snape's story was clear, though the reporting of his trial and sentencing in the _Daily Prophet_ were rather opaque. Neville didn't speak on his own behalf, but the words of others made clear his new status. He was now surrounded by admirers and friends, but still seemed humble, despite the tales of his heroism.


	8. Chapter 8: Proposal

**Good day, readers. Pleased to see you following along. Hope you are finding it worth your while, as I am enjoying bringing it to you. I've made some small corrections to Chapter 4 to align with the novels, and will continue to do so with your help and support. Happy reading!**

On Friday, at the end of the first week, Snape requested Hunter to meet in his office, as she had expected. Having spent nearly every night for the past two weeks drawing up her research proposal, she was exhausted and not feeling up to her best, but nonetheless reported once her afternoon class had finished their concocting of the Slimanua potion. This was a difficult potion to make. If any of a properly prepared finished product got on the student's hands, sealing the vial, carrying it to the professor and then cleaning up would be all but impossible, owing to the oily, unremovable slickness of the hands. Removal required time, perseverance, and a counterpotion, to be made on Monday. At least two students would probably need to be fed by friends this weekend and probably never change clothes. The possible error in this lesson plan had only occurred to her now. Perhaps next year she'd have them make the counterpotion first? Or maybe just on a Monday and Tuesday? If there was a next year.

The Headmaster greeted her formally, as usual, rising and gesturing to the chair opposite his large desk. "Good afternoon, Dr. Hunter. Please, sit down." As she did so, she was surprised to see a small house-elf seated at a smaller desk to the right of Snape, with a scroll of clean parchment, an inkwell, and a quill in her hand.

Noticing her gaze, Snape said simply "This is Bina, my chief scribe. Bina, this is Dr. Morgan Hunter, our new Potions Mistress." Bina bowed deeply, but didn't rise. Instead, she began to write.

"Now, Dr. Morgan, I have my research proposal drawn up," he now gestured to a long scroll near her on the desk, which she picked up.

"I also have mine, Headmaster," she replied, drawing her much shorter scroll from a pocket in her robe, a deep forest green today.

They each read the other's proposal in silence as Bina waited wordlessly.

Morgan was impressed with Snape's proposal. He wanted to explore both simplifying some potions substituting New World substances for Old World ones, as well as both amplifying or tempering others by modifications to formulas, technique, or vessel. The complexity of the array of experiments bespoke of a methodical approach, one that required patience, planning, and perseverance. But all of the hypotheses were brilliant, based on detailed research. The bibliography of citations was in the hundreds. The Hogwarts library must be impressive; she would need to become more familiar with it. Soon. Maybe this weekend.

By comparison, she was now a little embarrassed. She had not been quite so detailed, though she had somewhat similar ideas. She wanted to explore the mixture of old and new, but had, naturally, started with New World formulas and proposed modifications with Old World ingredients. She had hoped to attenuate some of the more deadly potions to merely injurious or painful, as well as to increase their stability and shelf-life. And her bibliography was non-existent. She hadn't been quite so formal as to cite sources, given that the review committee would be of one, and a peer at that.

Snape read her proposal quickly and appreciated what he was reading. Her overall idea was similar to his own, a good sign and obviously a tribute to her excellent mind, but with different potions and different objectives. As he read, he considered how likely the experiments were to actually work and found that they had a sound basis in fact, though her lack of citations was annoying. But as he continued to read, he became immersed in the contemplation of the results, the process of the formulations, and the sets of tests. As he reached the end, it occurred to him how unusual, actually unprecedented, it was for him to read a research proposal from a potential collaborator. Like Hunter, he, too, was accustomed to working alone, having neither peers nor the desire for one for these long years. A colleague would only have added risk to his previously perilous situation.

Perhaps, given the changes in his situation, a colleague would be a worthy step towards living what others might consider a "normal" life, this life after Voldemort. Having never done so before, other than a few glimpses as a younger student, he had little frame of reference. He considered who would it be that he might inquire as to how one goes about living a "normal" life. His colleagues here had put his past deeds into context, but there was an air of tension between regardless.

Minerva? Too professionally close as his Deputy Headmaster. Flitwick? Yes, the man had skills; that was not in question. But Snape's general disregard for "foolish wand-waving" had likely damaged that relationship. Hagrid? Preposterous. Sinistra? Possibly. Her temperment was well-matched to his, and yet she seemed to be able to relate to others. It was rumored she was dating someone from outside the Hogwarts/Hogsmead sphere, but no one knew who. He had a difficult time imagining who would be attracted to the stern, frosty astronomer, despite her looks.

Vector? His approach was to make every conversation a battle of intellect and while Snape was certain that he would win, he found it likely to not serve his purpose. Pomfrey? He had spent enough time with her and would rather avoid more, if possible. Sprout? It was difficult for him to be in her presence long without noticing the deep scent of soil on her. Trelawney? Merlin's Beard, no. But then again, they had some shared experience now. She probably was the single person in the school who had any insight beyond his exterior. Possibly. He might consult her on some matter of the vision and ask if she'd had more. Perhaps.

Hunter had stopped reading before Snape and now waited patiently for him to finish. Once he reached the end of her scroll, she began.

"We seem to have some similar ideas, though with different intentions to the modifications. I appreciated the amount of research you've done into New World ingredients, clearly the Hogwarts library is up to date. I suggest that we begin with a potion from the New World as my proposal lays out, then see if Old World ingredients can improve upon it."

Snape cut her off. "Let's begin with the traditional formula, the Old World formula, as you call it, and see if anything from the New World can or cannot improve upon it. It's best to start from something reliable…"

At this, Hunter scoffed. "Reliable? I hope you aren't implying that New World formulas aren't reliable."

"Of course not, only that the traditional formulas have been more time-tested and are seen as the standard in the opinion of the potions community. So let's begin there and…"

Hunter stood and pointed to her scroll. "Maybe your community, but the New World community puts plenty of confidence in our own formulas. They are typically simpler and equally, if not more, effective."

It was Snape's turn to scoff. "Simpler does not imply better. It only degrades the appreciation for the art of potion making, thinking that any fool who can read could make a reliable potion. The very complexity of the Old World formulas gives them their power…"

What began as a debate between collaborators became heated. Snape continued to hold the position that the Old World formulas should be seen as the standard to which improvements might be measured, and Hunter taking the opposite position, that the simplicity of New World potions made them superior. While voices were not raised, no compromise was evident.

"If this is collaboration, I favor working alone," Snape thought, his head in his hands. "Attempts at talking sense into her are futile."

"Good grief," Hunter thought. "He's inflexible, stuck in the old ways. And I'll never get a decent publication in a year's time at this rate if I have to work alone." She was ready to give in.

"Perhaps I could make a suggestion?"

Both Snape and Hunter jumped at this interruption. The small scribe had long since stopped taking notes, once the arguments had become repetitive.

Snape had had enough. "Silence, Bina!" he barked at her. She cowered and bowed deeply. "S-s-s-s-orry, Headmaster. I can leave, if you prefer…" she said in a tiny voice, hiding behind a parchment.

Snape was about to dismiss her when Hunter held up her hand. "No, please, what is your idea?" she said.

Bina looked to the Headmaster for permission to speak. Snape narrowed his eyes, but gave a small nod, suggesting that she might proceed, but with caution. She lowered the parchment enough to uncover her mouth, but remained crouched behind her tiny writing desk.

"Maybe you could take two potions that are meant to do the same thing, one Old World and one New World, and take equal parts of each and see if you can make it better with the best of each." Bina appeared to have exhausted herself at uttering these words, and put her head down on the desk, hiding her eyes beneath her large ears.

Snape and Hunter looked at one another in silence. For once, Hunter opted to give a little ground and allow Snape to have the floor. It was his office and he was the Headmaster, she reasoned.

At last, Snape spoke. "Brilliant, Bina. Dr. Hunter, is this plan acceptable to you?" he said, turning to her and gesturing that she might sit down.

Realizing that she had been standing and arguing a bit forcefully, she sat down quickly. "Yes, an excellent plan." She turned to the elf, who was just now brave enough to raise her eyes slightly. "That's an excellent suggestion, Bina. Thank you." House elves knew something about listening and solving problems, that much was clear.

She turned back to Snape. "So, let's find two potions that are intended to have similar effects, then modify in an array to see if we can arrive at a single, optimal formulation. Let's see, what should we start with? How about Veritaserum? That's always useful, but takes too long to make if it's needed on the spot."

"Sometimes there is value in potion-making taking time," Snape said with a slight smile. "But, perhaps we could start with that."

Hunter was relieved that they were starting to make some progress. "Once we get the hang of doing the arrays from the first set of formulations, we can probably have the students help with some of the more tedious aspects of the set-up and execution, and have the Advanced and independent study students take on some more complex ones." Bina was once again writing furiously at this point, as Dr. Hunter surged ahead, speaking in a kind of stream of consciousness, rarely taking a breath. "Finding an easier Vertiserum would be helpful. And a less dangerous sleeping potion, as well. An antidote for Jellybone, or a good scorpion venom antidote. And we would be instantly famous if we could come up with a fool-proof snake-bite antiserum…"

"Indeed, there are so many fools who get bitten by snakes…" Snape inserted, once Hunter took a much needed breath. Now brought back to the current moment, she halted and glanced up. She hadn't realized for how long she'd been speaking.

"Sorry," she began. "I get so many ideas, sometimes it is a challenge just to decide where to begin." She leaned forward with her hands on the desk, her voice rising, her words tumbling out at a rush. "Imagine all that we can accomplish, combining the best of the Old World and the New, Professor Snape. This is an opportunity to really bring the art of potions out of the 18th century and into the future. And the students will get such excellent experience." She nearly grasped his hand in her excitement at the vision, but managed to restrain herself at the last moment.

She stopped again, realizing again that she was talking too much and dominating the conversation. But Snape only smiled indulgently, which aggravated her.

"Yours is an ambitious vision. Are you certain you shouldn't have been sorted into Slytherin? Perhaps not, though, clever Ravenclaw." Here, he paused. "While I am in agreement with your general approach, using students would be fool-hardy, I'm afraid. It would likely be a waste of valuable ingredients, as well as a loss of valuable time, of which we have very little." Hearing this, a small stab went through her heart. She didn't want to think about her time limitations. She would have to continue to work on that notion.

"With the right instruction and supervision, the students could be helpful, as well as learning a great deal about the nature of research. Especially the older students. I find once they understand the theory behind the ingredients and processes, their appreciation of potions multiplies. And nothing moves learning forward than by making a few mistakes." She was doing it again, getting excited. She hadn't felt like this in years, inspired. And slightly panicked, thinking about having only one year, but really about 10 months, to show an accomplishment so impressive, she might be asked to stay. She couldn't go back to the Sedona school, but she didn't need a reputation as a person who now couldn't hold down a job. There were other schools, of course, but she would rather stay put. Stability was key to successful research and publications. Moving would be a distraction she didn't want. And at most schools, she wouldn't have a colleague in Potions. Maybe the Healers at the school or a nearby hospital, sometimes a Potion-maker with a shop, but they rarely had the time and drive to do the real work of research. No, she needed to stay here. And she needed students to help, to get a real volume of research done. She needed more time.

"Making mistakes can, indeed, be instructive," Snape said enigmatically. He put his steepled fingers to his lips as he considered her notion. Students. Picturing himself overseeing a roomful of dingbats fouling up an array of potions gave him a twinge of indigestion. But it would be interesting to see Dr. Hunter executing this plan. "We will require a great deal more of all components, should students be involved. And some of your New World ingredients may be difficult to obtain."

"Not at all, Professor, not at all. I've brought along plenty of everything. You've seen my lab, after all."

Indeed, he had. He initially hadn't understood why she brought so much along for a one-year appointment, but it was becoming clearer by the moment. Despite his stocking over the summer, this would be beyond his own supplies.

"Now that we've agreed on one formula to begin with and lay out the specifics of the design, then assess the student schedules. I will assign detentions, if extra labor is needed."

At this, she laughed, though he did not. She wondered if he were serious.

They spent the remainder of the afternoon and evening drawing up the plans, having dinner sent up to the Headmaster's office as they sketched out tables of different formulas, different techniques, and different vessels. Bina copied down what they wrote, then recopied when they made changes. Snape remained seated as Dr. Hunter chased ideas, wrote them on the blackboard, erased them, asked him a few questions, and refined the plans. This was more like what he pictured collaboration might be like, he thought, but it will probably become painful once the actual work needed to get done. Those with lots of ideas rarely had the patience and stamina to complete the actual work. Though she had published plenty.

As they drew up their schedule, Snape said "Add a visit to the Forbidden Forest on the night of the autumnal equinox to re-stock supplies. By then, we will need them and many will be at their most potent then." This year, the new moon coincided with the equinox, making it a particularly favorable time.

"Yes," said Hunter. "And on this weekend," she pointed to one in mid-September, "I'll either need to find a skilled student to replace me, or we'll need to find a stopping point. I'll be away at a speaking engagement at Beauxbatons. What days will you be out, Professor Snape?" she said, ready to mark out the days.

Snape's voice had regained its chilly tone. "A speaking engagement? I wasn't aware of this, Dr. Hunter. I would ask that permission be asked before you accept invitations that might overlap with your teaching duties."

Hunter realized her mistake and quickly back-pedaled. "Of course, yes, of course," she said. "I haven't actually accepted the invitation yet, I only just received it earlier this week. I was hoping that I could get both your permission, as well as your help covering my afternoon Friday lab on that date, as they are asking me to speak that evening." Her color was rising, she could feel the heat in her neck and ears. Now she was managing to foul up what she had hoped would be the start of a rich professional research relationship, but now she felt like she was a student in the principal's office getting a talking-to.

Snape continued to meet her gaze for a little too long before consulting with the elf. "Bina," he said too sharply. "Does my schedule permit me to teach on that Friday afternoon?"

"You're in luck, Headmaster," said Bina. "Your day is free then." Snape did not consider this especially lucky, as it would mean he would be teaching 3rd year students, as task he was pleased to have delegated to Dr. Hunter.

"It is Dr. Hunter who is in luck," he said. "Permission granted, then." Gesturing back to the blackboard he asked "Are there any other speaking engagements of travel plans that you have for the fall term?"

"Not yet, but I do anticipate several more to come from Durmstrang, Borealis, the Ministry of Magic here. It is well-known that I am here at Hogwarts, and I know a few friends who had planned invitations once I got more settled in. I'll be sure to run them by you, as well," she added hurriedly. "Thank you. Now, let's add your travel times, so I'll know when to not schedule any of my time."

"I have no travel times," Snape said simply.

"None? No Ministry visits, Board of Directors presentations, no conferences?"

"No."

Her mouth pressed ahead before her mind caught up to the fact that this seemed like a discussion he did not want to get into. "Really, I'm very surprised. The principal at the Sedona School was traveling so much, the Assistant Principal was just about the only school leader we actually saw."

"I can't afford to be away from the school," he said, then stood up, clearly indicating the meeting was at an end. "Bina, if you'll please record the blackboard notes and the discussion. Dr. Hunter, we can meet again on Monday to review Bina's notes, then recruit or detain students as necessary to start taking the inventories. That simple task should be difficult for them to blunder," he said harshly. "Good evening to you."

She bade him good evening, as well, then found herself alone in the corridor outside the Headmaster's office more quickly than she liked. It felt as though she'd been kicked out. But it was late. She made her way back to the Ravenclaw tower and her apartment and went straight to bed. Despite her exhaustion at the end of a difficult week, she found her head spinning with ideas and plans. And her enigmatic colleague. She could see why students were afraid of him, but found herself more pleased with the prospect of a professional partner than worried about his temperament. She'd worked with difficult people before. She hadn't gotten to the top of the Potions community by snapping under pressure. Well, that wasn't entirely true. She had gotten to the top, then snapped. She wondered where she was now, "in the Potions community." Her publication stream had stalled, but looked to pick back up. And the circumstances of her departure from Sedona weren't widely know, it seemed.

Well, that was behind her now. The past. An ocean away, literally. Time to separate from that and begin a new life, establish a new normal, whatever that might be. As she drifted off to unconsciousness, her thoughts turned away from Sedona with relief and towards her new research, her new plans. And her new colleague.


	9. Chapter 9: More Than You Know

**Good evening, readers. I am enjoying thinking of the fall at Hogwarts, the first chills in the air. Especially with the hottest days of the year thus far upon me. It's a good time to stay inside and write, especially in the quiet and cool of the evening. Hope this chapter gives you a few smiles and a little relief from whatever reality is yours. Thanks for reading! Please do send a review if you feel so moved.**

 **Update note: I made a few changes with the "overhaul" in this chapter to fix a continuity errors. Nothing major, just trying to do it right for you.**

The weekend was bright and clear, with the first hints of fall starting to show. The air had a crispness to it, though still warm, and the first leaves had begun to lose their robust green and began to show the smallest blossoms of the colors that had been hidden all summer. The days were becoming noticeably shorter and the morning light less intense. Knowing the lovely weekend might be one of the last before the truly chilly winds swept in had drawn all the students outdoors, with no one left inside to be accused of being up to something. The Whomping Willow offered tempting scarlet leaves that only the first-year students were foolish enough to approach for a closer inspection. Madame Pomfrey fixed them up better than new and very few required the experience to convince all remaining students to admire this ancient tree at a respectful distance. Each student, in addition to their physical injuries, earned a visit from Snape who rounded with Poppy to partake of the opportunity to castigate them about following school rules under the guise of checking up on the progress of their recovery.

Monday came too soon, as it always does. After a less than hearty breakfast of porridge and pumpkin juice, the 7th and 8th years were discussing the day.

"How does the career counseling work?" wondered Harry, grimacing slightly at both the difficulty of his trying to picture a worthwhile or interesting future and the gritty texture of the porridge. He quickly chased it with some pumpkin juice. "Do we just tell them what we want to do and then get a course plan or college advice?"

"I doubt it," Ginny said. "They'll have a record of your classes up to now and your O.W.L.s, so they'll probably be more on the side of telling you what you should do. But who knows, really. I think it's new this year. I asked Bill, Percy, and George about it, and they'd never been through it, so it must be a Snape thing."

"Leave it to Snape to find yet another way to tell us we're failures," Ron said.

"He'll have to take into account some of our skills from last year, I hope," Hermione began in a worried tone.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Only you'd worry about not being in school because you were fighting a war." The clock in the tower began to echo through the Great Hall. "Blasted bludgers, I gotta go." And he dashed up to the Headmaster's office just before the last chime of 9:00am.

He ran up the spiral stairs, gasping for breath. McGonagall was there as his head of house, as was Snape, eyeing him coldly. Three house elves also attended, acting as scribes.

After an interval to allow Ron to regain normal breathing, Snape began. "Mr. Weasley, your recent outstanding field performance notwithstanding," at this Snape paused, while Ron sat up with some shock at finally receiving some praise from the famously difficult-to-please professor, "your academic record leaves something to be desired." He gestured at one of the house elves, who brought forth a parchment clearly labelled with "Ronald Weasley, O.W.L Report." It was rather short and had only a few A's on it, meaning "Acceptable." Ron slumped again, looking embarrassed.

"Sir, you can imagine we had a few other things on our minds," he started, but Snape cut him off.

"Indeed, it is clear that you did, as Miss Lavender Brown could surely attest to." Ron turned red, as McGonagall noted "That was mis-directed potion, as I recall, Severus."

"As I recall, THAT was Romilda Vane," Snape said smoothly. "I believe the incident…s…. with Miss Brown were entirely organic." Ron felt ready to sink into the floor. "But that should not be an issue this term, I expect, and you will be able to fully concentrate on your studies, as you will need to, in order to earn your N.E.W.T.s and prepare for whatever career you decide to pursue. Professor McGonagall, I assume you've had the chance to review Mr. Weasley's records and identify what…talents…he may possess?"

"Of course, Headmaster," McGonagall replied, pulling out a longer piece of parchment, labeled "Ronald Weasley, Career Assessment." "It appears that an apprenticeship in the Department of Magical Objects or the Department of Muggle Relations might suit you."

Ron protested. "I was planning on a Quidditch career, or being an Auror." Snape glared. "Sir," Ron added.

At this Snape issued a characteristic snort. "Regardless of your recent demonstrations, there are standards required of Aurors, among them excellence at their schooling and recommendations from the school staff. And I would need to revise your schedule for the term." Snapping his fingers at the house elves yet again, he commanded "Show Mr. Weasley what the school schedule for Auror preparation would look like, please."

The smallest of the house elves dug into her pile of parchments and found the one she was looking for, and handed it to Ron, who choked as he read it.

"But this is more classes than I've ever taken in a term, for both terms! Sir."

"Indeed," said Snape.

McGonagall spoke, though with considerably more kindness in her voice. "Being an Auror is a very competitive position, Ron, with high standards and requirements that haven't changed, despite your recent acts. If this is indeed what you want to pursue, you'll need to apply yourself this year. That's why your class was invited back. Last year was an attempt at normalcy, but not enough was accomplished, as you can well imagine. It is a lucky opportunity that you and your classmates have been given, with an additional year nearly free, though how that's been financed is anyone's guess."

Ron looked glumly at the schedule. Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Arithmancy, Advanced Potions (still!), but there were a few others listed, as well. "What're Occlumency and Legilimency? Never heard of those before, sir" he asked.

"This is a new experimental class we have decided to add in order to further develop select students' skills prior to graduation. It refers to both seeing another's thoughts, as well as blocking someone from invading your own."

"Wow," Ron breathed, impressed. "Now that actually sounds useful." Realizing what he'd said, he stammered, "in addition to all the other useful stuff. Sir. I guess I'll sign up."

McGonagall handed him a quill and he placed his signature at the bottom of the curriculum list. As the ink dried, he asked "Who's teaching the new class, Occlumency and Legilimency? Is it Trelawney or someone new?" At this, a small smile, one far more worrisome than the usual scowl, played across Snape's mouth.

"I am."

"Why are you so pale?" Hermione asked when Ron wobbled into the common room a few minutes later. "Are you coming down with something?"

Ron related the results of his career counseling session and the new classes, groaning about having two classes with Snape. "At least I didn't pass out," he added.

"Occlumency and Legilimency are fascinating," Harry insisted, telling them about his experiences in the previous year, but leaving out the private parts of his invasion of Snape's thoughts.

"Wow, that's amazing. Usually that's only learned one on one and in secret. We're lucky to get the chance," Hermione noted. "What's your apprenticeship?"

"I'll be assisting Madam Pince in the library. 'You'll need all the time in the library you can get, to make up for lost time, Mr. Weasley,'" he added in his best Snape impression. "How books will prepare me to be an Auror, I can't figure." Hermione gave him the whack he deserved.

Some time later, Hermione came back to report that she was matched to Medi Wizard, Muggle Relations, International Magical Cooperation, or Historian. Her apprenticeship would be with Madam Pomfrey. Unsurprisingly, Neville was matched to Herbologist and would be assisting Professor Sprout in the greenhouses. Ginny was matched to Auror or Magical Law Enforcement and would be working with Professor Jones in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Dean Thomas was matched to Muggle Relations or the Department for Spell Development and would be working with Flitwick in Charms. Seamus Finnegan matched with Wandmaker, with experiential learning on school holidays with Olivander.

Harry embarked on his meeting with some trepidation. Entering the Headmaster's office, he still felt it strange to see Snape behind the desk instead of Dumbledore. And it still felt strange to have the understanding he now had of Snape's role in his life, though the mixed feelings were slowly resolving towards respect and admiration. His multi-year habit of distrust and loathing was slower to give way than he expected, his heart taking longer to make the change than his head. He wondered if Snape felt the same way, or if he had ever witnessed Snape's true feelings about anything outside the Pensieve and his Legilimency lessons.

"Mr. Potter, please have a seat and your Head of House will take you through your recommended careers," Snape said with no particular warmth, as though the past years hadn't taken place, as though the trial hadn't taken place, as though this were a normal counseling session between a Headmaster and any ordinary student. Harry fumed silently, nearly wishing for even some undue enmity.

McGonagall read down her parchment and noted that he was matched with Auror, but would have a good bit of schooling to take on, as well as to improve his performance, to which Harry agreed. He also was matched to teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, as well as the Department of Experimental Charms and Reversals. He looked forward eagerly to Occlumency and Legilimency, though he expected that Snape was much less pleased at the prospect. His apprenticeship was to be assisting in the Potions lab.

"Sir," Harry asked after signing off on his class list and apprenticeship assignment. "Do you mind if I ask to speak to you alone for a few moments?" Snape appeared irritated. He and Harry hadn't had a private discussion since Harry's last visit to the hospital wing before spending the summer at the Burrow. Only Snape's personal note on his school invitation bespoke of any deeper relationship between them.

"If Professor McGonagall is finished, perhaps," he said, gesturing to Harry's head of house, who stood.

"Yes, that is all I needed. Good day to you both and good luck to you, Harry. Choosing the Auror path is not an easy one, but you haven't had an easy path to date. This will require more discipline than you've shown yet." And with that vaguely unsettling remark, she left, the house elves following behind her. The door shut with a click, followed by the slide of a bolt in the lock as Snape flicked his wand at it.

Harry took a moment to look around the Headmaster's office. Surprisingly, it was very similar to how it had been in Dumbledore's time, with a warm fire, paintings of all the prior Hogwarts headmasters posted, and small magical instruments on tables, shelves, and cabinets lining the walls of the room. The large oaken desk was now clear of any of the silver or glass objects and was covered now with several books (Magical Careers and Their Requirements, current edition; Compendium of the World's Wizarding and Witchcraft Colleges; Higher Magical Education; So You're Not Auror Material: a survey of practical jobs to suit any profile), as well as numerous parchments in organized piles.

"Thinking I might redecorate, Potter? Perhaps with pink kittens?" Snape muttered, following Harry's gaze.

Harry snapped back. "No, sir." Harry recalled one of his last times in Professor Umbridge's office, when Snape denied having Veritaserum to enhance her interrogation. It was a painful memory, compounded by the remembrance of his many detentions with her. In the right light, the scars still remained on his hand. Then he realized that, for the first time in his presence, Severus Snape might have been joking. "But I did wonder if you'd move down to your dungeons."

"No time for that, these days. Unlike my predecessor, I have not abandoned teaching," he said, gesturing to the newly-added painting of Dumbledore, who shrugged in a slightly embarrassed sort of way. "And besides, Professor Hunter is taking up rather a large amount of space there for a teacher hired only for a one-year stint here. And she and I will also be doing a substantial amount of research, which takes up a very good deal of the lab space in the dungeon." Snape followed this with a grunt that Harry interpreted to mean that he was rather displeased with having to share his previously solitary space with anyone, especially an outgoing person like Professor Hunter. He'd already heard many of the younger students raving about her, especially those who'd had Snape for Potions previously. The first years didn't know how good they had it, but seemed to like her. Harry wondered how on earth Snape could have selected someone so different from him to be his Potions colleague. Wouldn't he have conducted interviews? Or hadn't he the strength?

As if reading his mind, which Harry realized might be a strong possibility, Snape only said "She has an excellent professional reputation in the Potions community and I simply don't have the time to deal with dunderheaded underclassmen, in addition to upper level dunderheads and the new classes." Snape set aside the other parchments, facing them down in deference to the privacy of other students, and pulled out the scroll with Harry's name. "What more can I do for you, Mr. Potter?" he said, eyeing the words on the parchment closely.

Harry struggled to begin. At least Snape no longer spit out his name like it was a pus from a bubotuber to which he was referring; Harry considered this to be as close to an embrace as imaginable from Snape. "Sir, I've been considering applying to wizard college."

Snape did not reply, but raised his eyebrows, as if to say "And….."

"But all the applications require the signature of a parent or guardian, and, well…." He trailed off, then started again. "I asked McGonagall and she was quite sure that this was required and as my Head of House, she didn't qualify."

Snape stretched back in his chair and looked pensive. "Yes," he concurred after a moment to think. "This is a requirement. And you'll find, Mr. Potter, that the paperwork required in the wizarding world, at least among those who choose to observe the usual rules and regulations," he added pointedly, "are lengthy and inflexible. How Dumbledore got on without scribes, I may never know." At this, the portrait of Dumbledore took on a considerably more smug appearance. "So, that presents you with a quandary, does it not?" Harry almost thought Snape appeared pleased at this.

"The obvious solution is to press into service someone as a godparent to you, though you have reached your majority."

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "That's what I was thinking."

"Who were you thinking of," Snape asked distractedly, his quill at the ready.

Harry waited until the headmaster looked up and met his eyes, a look of annoyance at this delay. "You, sir. I was hoping it would be you."

Snape set the quill down slowly and leaned back, still regarding Harry with what appeared to be annoyance. "You must be joking, Mr. Potter."

He doesn't want me, Harry thought desperately. He doesn't feel the pull of the bond I feel. Harry began to feel rather alone again, but pressed on, undissuaded. "No, sir, I'm not. I can't think of anyone better suited."

Snape snorted. "Though no doubt you've wracked your brain with the effort." Harry got the sense, yet again, that perhaps this was Snape humor. He smiled tentatively, but the headmaster regarded him with a serious look. Leaning forward with his elbows now resting on the parchments and his hands clenched together in a tight grasp, he said slowly "You have no idea what this means, Mr. Potter."

Harry was warmed by the depth of this unexpected emotional response, and smiled, gaining in confidence that perhaps Snape did see him differently now, that perhaps something new could grow from this point further.

"That's very kind of you to say, sir, I had hoped you'd feel that way, as I do…." Harry very nearly gushed with relief.

"That's not what I mean, Potter," said Snape testily, sitting back again and slapping down his quill. "I mean, there is more to this than just signing a form for college. This is a lifetime commitment."

"I- I know, sir," Harry stammered, mildly offended with the headmaster's response.

"No, you don't. Because if you did, you would certainly choose someone more qualified than me."

Harry was stunned for only a moment and continued on. "I did think about it, I decided on you."

"Harry," Snape said impatiently, "if you HAD in fact thought about it, you would choose someone who could offer you more. The godparent relationship is a binding one, for both persons, until death. In your case, having no living parents, I would be to you exactly as a father, as James would have been, as Sirius Black was. I would be obliged as your parent until death, not just through college, but through your marriage, any children that might result, and so on." Snape paused, letting this sink in, then resumed his emphatic lecture. Harry began to feel like he was in Potions class again, having not read the book, having no idea was gilderfloss would do if added to foxglove, unable to differentiate between frog bones and spider teeth. And he was getting the feeling that Snape had little interest in being bound to him for life. "Let me be sure you understand clearly, you would also have obligations to me, as a son would to his father. And my…obligations…would also be yours."

Harry muttered, "I see."

"If you saw, Potter, you would make a better choice," Snape spat out. "I have nothing to offer you, Potter, nothing." His voice dropped to the low and dangerous voice that usually meant a detention or failing grade was heading his way. "I have no property to speak of and no fortune, despite the rumors from the _Daily Prophet_ and the _Quibbler_. I have binding sentence from the Ministry of Magic that will last for at least 50 years. And a reputation that is somewhat tarnished in the eyes of many in the Magical Community, on both sides. That is a burden that I would not wish on anyone I actually cared about."

Harry was taken aback and found he was actually breathing hard from the exertion of Snape's words on him. Had Snape been on the other side of the desk, he would no doubt have Harry by the lapels at this point.

"Almost anyone else you could choose could offer you more, Harry. Anyone. I know you have your own fortune, between James, Lily, and Sirius. But you should think about someone else, not a poor schoolmaster under a dark shadow. Think of your future." Here, Snape paused, and his gaze tore into Harry's soul. "Think of what your parents would want for you."

Harry's mind raced with this information as he bit back painful memories of his parents and Sirius Black. He had known this conversation would bring up both his parents and the godfather they had chosen, but he had not reckoned on this forceful resistance. Even when he imagined a decline on Snape's part, and he had pictured this many times, it was generally short and to the point, not a lecture. But Harry had planned on this being difficult, for what in his dealings with Snape had even been otherwise? He had planned on being persistent. Partly because he had no real back-up plan.

"Anyone I actually cared about." Did that mean he did or did not care about Harry? His concern for Harry seemed at odds with his clear desire to have no bond to him. Harry needed to know, needed to understand where he stood.

"The Weasleys already have enough on their hands, and they wouldn't accept my offering them my fortune, they are too proud," Harry said.

"Too proud for their own good," Snape muttered.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt has too much going on at the Ministry still," Harry noted.

"Indeed."

"Yes, exactly," said Harry, accelerating as he named others. "Xenophilius Lovegood tried to get me killed, so I'm not too keen to ask him." Snape grunted his assent. "And Charlie Weasley has taken a position in Brazil, chasing down more Death Eaters to bring to trial. You see, sir, I have considered my options, these and others. And I choose you, if you'll have me." Harry stopped, afraid to get the answer, but had run down his list of possible candidates and the problems they each presented. "I'm sure you'll need time to think. Good day to you sir," Harry said, standing to go.

"You have not been dismissed, Potter," Snape said sharply, gesturing to the overstuffed armchair Harry had just vacated. Harry sat down. Was this really the time to observe all the tiny rules of their unequal relationship?

Snape brought his long hands together thoughtfully, his fingers on his chin. The fire continued to crackle as they faced one another. Softly, as though he wanted no one else to hear, Snape said "I accept your proposal. Harry."

Harry's relief was immense. Snape stood and offered his hand across the desk, which Harry took in his gratefully. His grip was both stronger and warmer than Harry had expected, but still stiff and formal, with no joy or excitement in it. Once the handshake was over, Harry asked, "What's next then, headmaster?"

Snape aimed his wand at the door, the bolt unlocking, followed several seconds later by the entrance of a house elf. Harry noted with pleasure that this one had a Gryffindor tie on. "How can I help, Headmaster?" he asked with a deep bow.

"Collect the paperwork necessary for the establishment of a godparent-godchild relationship and begin the planning for the Binding ceremony," Snape said.

"As you say, sir," the house elf said and returned only seconds later with a stack of papers nearly two inches tall.

Still standing, Snape shuffled through the papers, handing Harry half of them. "You will fill these out by the end of the week." Harry gasped at the sheer number of the forms. Just the first few were dense and required an incredible amount of information about him, his parents, his grandparents, the rest of his family.

Harry protested. "Sir, this is a lot of work! I have Astronomy all night Wednesday, homework every night, Quidditch practice Tuesday and Thursday, and my apprenticeship (' _in the Potions lab, like an endless detention' he thought_ ). Can I also get a house elf to help?" At this, the house elf turned to Harry with an excited look on his face.

"Even as your godfather, I would be expected to maintain my neutrality towards you as headmaster of this school," Snape said with more pleasure than Harry would have liked. "You wouldn't want me to damage my hard-earned reputation for fairness, would you? On my desk by Friday, 5 o'clock sharp." Snape allowed a smile to creep into the corners of his mouth. "I did mention this means more than you know, right? Best get started, Potter."

Harry rose, carrying the large stack of papers. As he reached the door, Snape mentioned casually, as though he were announcing the dinner menu in the Great Hall that evening, "Oh, and by the way, any living blood relatives will be required to witness the Binding, which will be on Saturday afternoon. I'll expect you to handle that, Potter."

Harry was halfway up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower when his delight at Snape's acceptance wore off and the realization that he would have to have Aunt Petunia and his cousin Dudley there. This was, indeed, more than he knew.


	10. Chapter 10: Collaboration

**Good evening, readers. Please note that this story needed to undergo significant revisions. Apparently in my late-night condition, I neglected to upload a couple of chapters and things have gotten out of wack. This chapter is the first of two that are newly inserted within the flow of the story, as is the new Chapter 11 (Binding). Other chapters after these two have gotten new titles and a fresh pair of eyes to be sure things are going as they should. I've also made some minor corrections to Chapter 9 (More Than You Know) just to fix some continuity issues.**

 **Dear readers, you are too kind to not mention that it seemed like pieces were missing or that the story was underdeveloped. As well as a few other flat out mistakes. Everyone has been nothing but kind and supportive, unlike so many other places on the web. And I really appreciate that. HOWEVER, if you see something amiss, do point it out or suggest that things might be improved.**

 **Last, I am between jobs. :-) I am hoping to have a pile of new chapters out over the next two weeks, once I get these previous chapters all ironed out. Stay tuned!**

As he prepared for their first meeting in the Potions lab, Snape lamented the turn things had taken, in contrast to the hope he had allowed himself to have when extending the offer to Morgan Hunter to take the teaching position here. He had envisioned a calm and orderly, older man, a peer, a colleague he could respect. Instead, Morgan Hunter was a tiny, noisy little bat who rarely held her tongue unless under duress. Sitting too near her at meals was like having Wizard Wireless on; he wondered how she managed to eat at all. Random ideas of every sort spilled out of her constantly. Others on the staff seemed captivated by her stories. He wondered idly if if they had a genuine interest in her stories of the United States and its Magical Schools or if they egged her on solely to irritate him at every meal. Were he a staff member rather than Headmaster, he might take more of his meals in his own rooms or his office. As it was, he felt compelled by his position to attend, if for no other reason than to demonstrate his stamina in doing so.

He dreaded their collaboration in brewing the actual potions, given how distracting her constant monologue would be, in contrast to his usual solitary and silent concentration. Perhaps they would need to schedule alternate times for use of the lab, meeting only to compare results and plan the next round of alterations to the formulae. Despite his misgivings, he continued down the halls of the dungeon to the lab.

Hunter was concerned about their first actual collaboration in the dungeon. She was more accustomed to working alone, with no one to debate her ideas. His inflexibility about the proposals concerned her, as she often made changes on the fly as she did her work, responding to what she saw as she crafted the potions. He would probably want to stick strictly to the plans they charted out and get testy if not downright ugly at changes during the process. Thankfully, they had few interactions, but she had witnessed his style at mealtime announcements and overheard her students talking about which of his students landed themselves in evening detentions. Detentions, for upper year students. Absurd.

She steeled herself to attempt to be as assertive as possible, given her years of experience and success. Her term was only a year, and he would have difficulty in replacing her before then. And he needed her teaching capacity. Between the duties of Headmaster, Advanced Potions, Occlumency and Legilimency, she knew his taking back the younger students was not possible without some heretofore unheard of cloning charm. Despite her misgivings, she continued down the halls of the dungeon to the lab.

"Good day, Headmaster," she greeted him as they reached the lab at the same time.

"Good day, Dr. Hunter," he replied, with no warmth. She unsealed the charms on the door and entered, casting her wand to light the torches. Snape followed, covering the blackboard with the charts they agreed upon with a wave of his wand.

Hunter began to assemble the ingredients they needed in order. Snape was pleased that she had said nothing other than brief requests for specific items that were closer to him. "Dittany, please." "Newt skin powder, please." From her own stores, she brought forth cactus scales, scorpion venom, several glowing crystals, and a series of terra cotta pots in various sizes, each fired with a variety of angular symbols. "Hopi," she muttered as he looked on with interest.

And the array was laid out, with slightly different ingredients in some, different vessels for others.

Looking over the chart, Snape said "I'll take the first row," at the same time as Hunter said "How about I take the second row?" They both nodded at one another and set to work.

Two hours passed with no sound but that of opening jars, grinding of powders, bubbling liquids, and the scrape of knives and spatulae on plates. Snape began to lose himself in the work, referring frequently to the board, stirring this one clockwise, that one counterclockwise, and keeping careful tallies on the parchment nearby. Hunter observed that the scorpion venom was somewhat jellied from its travels, so she gave it some additional trituration before adding it, making a note of it in her notebook. The first resulting solution didn't have the characteristic green, greasy swirl and choking stench, so she added two drops more to the next formula in the array, which seemed to improve things. She made additional notes.

Snape stood back as his several formulae bubbled away during the steeping phase and realized that as many as two hours had passed with not a word from his colleague. He carefully glanced in her direction and was mildly surprised to see her going from pot to pot, peering in closely and smelling the contents, a dangerous thing to do with boiling venom. She then made notes, the sound of her quill scratching the only other sound other than bubbling. Any sounds of students, staff, or animals outside rarely reached these depths, which was convenient, as anyone approaching in the halls would have no cover for the sound of their approach, save their own conscientiousness.

At last she looked up, setting down her quill and pulling back the hair that had fallen out of her braid as she worked. She met his eyes and gave a small nod of acknowledgement, but did not get up from her array. Snape, intrigued by the smell, came forward to gaze at her set of experiments.

As he leaned forward to waft the smell, she spoke, rather too sharply, he thought. "Watch your hair, you'll set it on fire!" Rising, he was irritated on the one hand, but then irritated with himself on the other, as he smelled the characteristic scent of singed hair close to his nose. "The terra cotta pots hold a lot of heat, they don't cool as fast as bronze or iron. Here, I have an extra tie." She handed him a black ribbon, which he took and quickly bound back his own hair, now thinking her braid a bit more practical and little less a girlish affect than he had before. Though most witches favored a bun. It was interesting to him that he could actually smell the enamations a little better with his face more free from the black hair that typically framed it. And he could feel the warm radiant heat from the terra cotta pots as he moved from one to the next.

As Snape observed the pots, Hunter observed Snape. He was interesting to look at, not entirely handsome in a typical or obvious way, but not displeasing to the eye. His skin was pale which contrasted with his dark eyes and hair, his nose long and straight, mouth small and tight, most commonly in an expression that ranged from indifference to mild disapproval to anger in turns. Despite this, she could see that his anger was typically expressed as a replacement for disappointment, mostly to students who did not meet his exacting standards, or anyone who stood between him and his goals. Now, with his hair pulled away, she could see more of the planes of his face, the way his forehead sloped and the slight hollows in his cheeks.

"May I see your notebook, please?" he asked, finishing with his observations. Hunter hesitated, knowing that he would see the adjustments she'd made that were different from the ones specified. But how could she refuse? Time for the planned assertiveness.

He looked through the scrawled entries, with side notes and adjustments on nearly every line, and strode down the array. "You've added more of the venom," he began.

"Yes," she started, but he finished for her. "Because it gelled up from the travel time, of course. Venom loses its potency over time, regardless of its container. Good thinking. I would have expected nothing less from the great Dr. Morgan Hunter," he said, almost to himself. Hunter hid her surprise at his acceptance as he continued down the notes.

"And may I observe your notes, as well?" she asked, partly because she wanted to see them, and at least partly to keep herself on equal footing. He gestured silently to his own notes as he continued to refer to her notes and the swirling terra cotta pots.

She looked at the notes, written in a fine old-fashioned script. He noted changes in color, behavior, smell, texture, and viscosity, as well as an additional characteristic that he called temperament, among the qualities that he monitored. He had not varied from the chart even an iota, though there seemed to be no reason to do so, from the notes written here. He predicted that the formula with the most vigorous "temperament" would likely be the most potent and useful of this array, though he noted the test to be performed would reveal this.

As the pots and cauldrons continued to bubble, she asked him "What is temperament, Professor Snape? I haven't come across that term before."

He looked up from her notes and she was surprised to see, not impatient irritation, but something a bit hesitant. He paused and looked away for a moment. Perhaps she had read it wrong? Had he been describing temperature and his handwriting been hard to read? Or mis-spelled? Neither of those possibilities seemed likely, given the clarity of the notes and the careful script. And there were no thermometers out on the table.

"It isn't in the textbooks yet. It is a quality I am researching to understand better myself," he said slowly.

She waited for him to go on, thinking about what temperament could mean in a potion.

"Sometimes, when you add an ingredient or stir or boil a potion, it quickly and smoothly takes on the change…" he started, then paused, looking intently at her.

"And sometimes, it seems to resist, suggesting that you add more, stir more, stir more vigorously or boil more rapidly to effect the change, that you have to make it happen somehow," she replied, starting to see where he was going.

His eyes widened slightly, possibly with respect. "Precisely," he said, turning to face her directly now. "Those potions, the ones with the more resistant temperament…."

"They're the ones that really work, that surprise the Potion Maker and the Potion Taker both," she said, smiling broadly. "I have made those before, where everything seems difficult, effortful, but you know if you just keep at it, it will turn out. Like a battle of wills in miniature. But I've never been able to nail down what it was about them that made them so remarkable. It's temperament, you think?" She thought back to several batches of a healing salve that practically popped an injured Mineralist she knew back instantly. The witch was appreciative later, but at the time the healing was as startling and at least as forceful and perhaps as painful as the injury. Then there was the mood-lifting potion that was too good. After the first two wizards needed to be detoxed at the hospital due to addiction, she destroyed the remainder with buffalo dung and hematite. Even the fumes had made her deliriously happy for days. She still felt a longing for that feeling. Even ordinary joy would do at this point. But she reminded herself that joy was unlikely any time soon.

"I suspect that temperament may be the key, and I am testing for this property in the array."

Hunter looked at him quizzickly. "But that wasn't in your research proposal or our final protocol."

"Sometimes one simply follows the observations that present themselves," he said smugly, knowingly.

She turned back to the cauldrons. "A whole new property. That would be amazing." She rounded back to him. "Come with me for my lecture at Beauxbatons, Severus, I mean Headmaster. That would make such an interesting talk. You would be the first to reveal it, if this array works. Imagine the response. No one has described a new property since, well, since Potion making began to be written down. You'd be the toast of the lecture circuit." She smiled broadly, but was brought back to Earth by his immutable expression.

"That is a kind offer, Dr. Hunter, but we should wait for results, don't you think?"

"Of course, but then…"

"And then we will need to perform more experiments, to confirm the results. One result is insufficient to make a conclusion, and to propose a newly-recognized property will be challenging to put forth. The idea will meet with resistance. The Potions community, as you know, is a generally conservative and skeptical one."

She couldn't debate that point. Only minor improvements had been made in centuries. Even their attempts to merge Old World and New World potion techniques was cutting edge, despite the fact that it should have been done two or three generations before. Perhaps this had been done, but Potion makers were typically highly secretive and territorial. Despite the 20th century embrace of publication and sharing, it was well-known that the most important progress was still kept private by most Potion Makers, the better to further his or her influence and practice in the local community. Formulas, ingredients, the location of fresh components, every aspect was an asset to be carefully guarded. To reveal and share the secrets was to lose the mystique and power that they had.

But he was sharing this with her. Why? Would she have shared such a ground-breaking concept with him, had she discovered something with this much potential? Probably not, she reckoned. She would likely have done those experiments on her own time, with her own supplies, and in a separate notebook. He had started to transfer his set of formulas into bottles and set the stoppers. She allowed hers to cool further as she observed him. He had demonstrated clearly that he was observant and systematic, that he understood the art as well as the science of potion-making. She felt a rise of, what could it be described as other than joy, at the realization that he wasn't just her colleague but her equal, a true peer. It was unlikely that they would start chatting away casually about Potions this and Potions that, but at least she had someone who might really challenge her thinking. And there was a rise of something else, too. Attraction. No, not from his looks, though he was not repulsive by any means, but from his mind and his manner. He was ambitious, intelligent, challenging (difficult, really), but for some reason, he was opening up his Potions secrets to her. She found herself breathing a little rapidly as she resolved these thoughts in her mind and tried to refocus on her own Potions, carefully filling the labeled bottles and placing the stoppers. But what a mess that would be, given, well, everything.

Snape stayed focused on bottling his potions, carefully cross-checking the labels with the array before transferring, then placing the bottles in a divided box in the correct order. Once he was sure the work was correct and everything identified, he allowed his mind to wander. The work had gone well, despite his previous misgivings. Hunter had not babbled on like a teenager on Babble Broth, at least until the final discussion. He was pleased that she'd taken the bait, as he knew she would, and read his notes. He had felt the need to be sure she was fully aware of his talents, not simply of putting together a reasonable set of what were really very simple variations on a formula, but of something that took more skill and experience. Her notion of his joining her on the lecture tours was novel, but unlikely anytime soon. But he would publish, and perhaps improve his standing in the wizarding community at large. Although the staff and students of Hogwarts were mostly convinced of his loyalty and service, the same could not be said of the Ministry and many others, and not just the Dark Magic community. While making reputable Potions was a good way to gain standing in a community, publication would do so worldwide, and he began to formulate a broader vision for himself than simply Hogsmeade, or even Britain.

He opted to clean up without much magic, though scrubbing the cauldrons was the exception. He considered saving this task for the next student with detention, but decided against it. Even the remaining residue of scorpion venom might be dangerous, and students were well-known for carelessness, even with clear warnings. The ire of Madam Pomfrey, parents, and the students themselves he could handle, but knowingly exposing students to the paralytic risks of scorpion venom would probably rise to the level of a Ministry visit from some agent the Department of Magical Education. Although Umbrage had been replaced by Paracelsus Winder, he wasn't in the mood for anyone starting to dig around the Potions lab, or Hogwarts in general. 50 years would be a long time to avoid that, but why start now? As he recalled from his school days, Winder was of relatively mild talent, but must have impressed someone at the Ministry to be appointed Minister of Magical Education at a relatively young age. No doubt he'd be interested to prove his worth by uncovering some scandal here and impress his bosses. Perhaps he had higher ambitions to follow in the shoes of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

He turned with the intent of being sure that Hunter placed the remaining venom in the controlled substances locker, but stopped before speaking. She was also cleaning up, using magic, tapping her wand on each piece twice, first to clean it, then to whisk it away to its cabinet or drawer. She had impressed him with her spontaneous changes during the brewing. It took both years of experience as well as confidence to make changes in the middle of a formulation. As his lesser students were well aware (were there any other kind of students?), small variations could easily result in toxic or explosive sludge. But all of hers came out well, sitting gleaming in their containers. He felt mild irritation at himself for underestimating her based on her height and appearance. Brewing potions didn't require brute force (although obtaining certain components sometimes did), but was far more cerebral than that. Perhaps she also had strength, he had no reason to know as of yet. But she certainly had the mind for potions, both from her previous work and what she'd demonstrated today. He found himself looking forward to their next session, as this had considerably more appeal than watching 4th years ruin in 20 creative and innovative ways the simple formula for Pepper-Up Potion.

But there was more to his feelings than simple collegiality, he knew. She was personally attractive, as well. When she had used his given name, he had appreciated hearing it from her. But he was her supervisor and colleague. Not to mention as far from an attractive wizard as one could be, short of Mad-eye Moody. She was clearly out of his Quidditch league, with her glamorous style, long tawny hair, cheerful demeanor, and international professional standing. It was best not to dwell in his mind places where nothing further could develop.

"Shall I place the venom in the Controlled Substances locker?" he asked.

"Yes, excellent. Let me be sure the outside of the container is clean first." She tapped it three times with her wand and the small vial gave a shake, another shake, then finally a nod. She wrapped it in a leather bag and tied the cord in a knot before standing back to allow him to take it. He carefully placed it back in its place in the cabinet, fastened the lock, and put two charms on it. One to seal it, the other to reveal the identity of anyone who might try to break the charm or try the lock.

"I presume you filled out the necessary permits with the Office of Poisons, Toxins, and Caustics for a Class 2 Poison upon your arrival?" Snape asked casually, drawing off his dragonhide gloves.

Hunter's blood pressure began to drop. "Of course." The lie felt caustic on her tongue. It hadn't occurred to her that any of her equipment or compounds might need any extra registration. Until now. She'd been in such a state packing up and traveling, she hadn't checked. So, at this point, she'd exported scorpion venom from the US without paying the taxes, as well as imported to the UK without registration. There were probably taxes or fees associated with this, too. The money was no matter, but any further evidence that she was careless or unstable she didn't need.

Being done with the clean-up afforded her a natural-sounding excuse to leave shortly thereafter, on the premise that she wanted to visit the library. She did want to visit the library, she told herself, trying to convince herself that she wasn't telling two lies so closely together.

Snape watched her go, not in the slightest bit convinced. Especially when she turned the wrong way down the corridor and had to double back to get to the library, her usual direct gaze now directed away from him to the floor. After considering a visit to the library himself, he thought the better of it. Weasley would have his first shift in the library this evening, and although it gave him mental pleasure to imagine having the young wizard jumping to retrieve the materials he would request, mostly from the Restricted Section ("Undetectable Poisons," "Malevolent Mushrooms for Indoor Cultivation," "Curses, Hexes and Spells for Fun and Profit (for entertainment purposes only)," or "Dark Magic: 101 Projects to Sharpen Your Skills"), he had had enough human interaction for the day. Despite his pledge to not allow his mind to dwell on the unobtainable, he did so anyway as he returned to his rooms in the dungeons, the sound of his boots and the rustle of his robes as his only accompaniment.


	11. Chapter 11: Binding

**Good day, readers. Please note that this story has undergone significant revisions, mostly in the form of several new chapters uploaded out of order. Apparently my readers are far too kind to bring to my attention that parts of the story don't make sense, refer back to things that didn't occur, and generally seem a little too fast-paced and underdeveloped. Thank you for being so kind to this writer, but I have just discovered my errors. This is one of two newly-added chapters, the other being "First Collaboration," the new Chapter 10. The chapters following these have been both renamed and edited. You may wish to re-read to pick up a few extra bits.**

 **It would appear that my habit of staying up late to do this writing has taken its toll. The good news is that I am between jobs for a bit, so you should have several new tidbits to chew in the next two weeks.**

 **PLEASE offer reviews and comments, particularly if things seem a little off. :-0**

The Saturday of the Binding arrived in what seemed like only a few minutes. Harry had spent nearly every waking moment filling in forms and worrying about Aunt Petunia and Dudley. He sent an owl first thing Wednesday evening, despite his aunt and uncle's abhorrence of anything out of the ordinary, anything that hinted of the Magical world, which embarrassed them to no end. But regular post would never arrive on time. And, too, he realized, he wasn't exactly sure HOW to send a regular post envelope from Hogwarts. In the letter addressed specifically to Aunt Petunia, he explained everything he could, hoping that the thought of someone else taking responsibility for him would be worth her and Dudley's attendance, no matter how distasteful that would be. He also sent an urgent post owl using one of the school owls to Mrs. Weasley, explaining the situation and begging for her help in getting Aunt Petunia and Dudley properly dressed and prepared for the occasion. He had little notion of what dress robes for a witch cost. He figured double a wizard's, so he enclosed enough for three of the robes he'd worn to the Yule Ball a couple of years back. He feared for Uncle Vernon's response, but hoped for the best.

He then set out to fill in the paperwork, which required a detailed listing of every penny he possessed, property he owned (#12 Grimmauld Place and his parent's home in Godric's Hollow), any further obligations (none that he knew of), any further assets (did the Invisibility Cloak and Marauder's Map count? No, he decided). He spent hours working on it. Even Hermione was impressed with his diligence.

Hermione had spent nearly as much time researching the ceremony in the library ("Wizard and Witches' Ceremonies in the Modern Era").

"There's a lot more about the paperwork, lawyers, and obligations than the actual ceremony," she noted in some confusion. "Most of the other entries describe things more, and some even have pictures." She showed Harry and Ron a series of photos, particularly of weddings, noting the robes she liked and considering what colors were best. Ron paid almost no attention. "So, I still don't know what will happen today. You've filled in all the papers, right?"

"Yes, nearly ran out of ink doing it, too." said Harry, rubbing a sore hand a wrist. "Well, I better go get dressed. Dress robes are expected, right, Hermione?" She nodded.

Ron groaned. "For us, too?" Harry felt bad that this meant that Ron needed to put on his dress robe, which was both unfashionable AND now at least a size too small and several inches too short. But there was nothing to be done about it. The description of the ceremony was clear.

"Afraid so, but it's not like everyone in the school will be there. Snape insisted it be private, with as small a gathering as possible, in the Headmaster's office," Harry said, hoping this was reassuring. At least it was a better location than the dungeons.

Ron's only response was to grunt and march up to the boys' dormitory to face his sentence.

Harry felt more than a little nervous as he observed himself in the mirror, his green dress robe smelling like it had been in storage for more than a year (it had) and being too short, though not as short as Ron's, who'd managed to grow at least two more inches over the summer. Harry tried as much as possible not to even look at Ron, for fear of breaking out in laughter. The lace cuffs and neck and the ancient patchy maroon velvet spoke of many years having gone by since these were the fashion. And now the hem was nearly up to his knees, his wrists and forearms sticking out miserably.

Dean Thomas stuck his head in the door suddenly. "Yo, Ron. Your mum's here, waiting on you in the common room." Ron looked aggravated by Dean's seeing him dressed so, but Dean managed to stifle his laugh, mostly.

In the common room, Mrs. Weasley's smiling face grew serious when she took in the sight of her son. "Ron! Merlin's beard, you've grown." She shoved a large box in his hands and shooed him back up the steps. "Go, put these on. Quickly now, it's going to start in about 20 minutes! And wash you face, too, you've still got breakfast on your chin!" Ginny tried to shush Seamus and Dean, but that only made them chuckle more loudly. Ron snatched the box and bounded up the stairs two at a time. Harry was about to ask Mrs. Weasley what was in the box (maybe Bill's wedding robe?), but Ron reappeared too quickly.

The box apparently held brand new dress robes, for that was what Ron had on now. Harry tried not to stare or make a big deal about then, but they were quite stylish and well-fitted. Hermione was speechless, her mouth open at the now-dashing figure Ron cut. Ginny burst out laughing, only to be hushed up by her mother. "Look out, Hermione, you might have competition after this." Ron threw a nearby pillow at her, which she caught and prepared to throw back, until she caught her mother's icy stare. Ginny fluffed the pillow self-consciously and put in the chair. "See you later, dreamboy." Ron, Harry and Mrs. Weasley exited quickly and took off for Snape's office.

Arriving at the door, Harry intended to take a couple of breaths, but Ron quickly said the password (asphodel) and stepped out of the hall as quickly as possible. Harry could sense that he was trying to avoid being seen and followed immediately. Mrs. Weasley said "I'll be there in just a moment," and took off down the corridor towards the Entrance Hall. The heavy oaken door closed quickly after she departed. As they mounted the revolving stone staircase, Harry heard unexpected voices.

Arriving at the top of the staircase, Professor Snape stood to his considerable height and came from behind the desk, now cleared of parchments, quills, ink, and books.

"Advocate Hobble, I don't believe you've met Harry Potter yet." Harry extended his hand to a short, portly though relatively young wizard, dressed in dark green dress robes trimmed in silver that shimmered in the light of the room when he moved. "What house must he have been in," Harry wondered to himself. "Couldn't have left school more than four or five years ago."

"Pleased to meet you, sir," said Harry.

The young wizard pumped his hand enthusiastically. "Good to meet you, so pleased to represent you and your interests, Mr. Potter."

"My interests, is he saying he likes Quidditch?" Harry puzzled in his head.

Snape then turned to Harry. "Harry, this is … our … lawyer, Advocate Arboreus Hobble."

Still shaking, Harry cottoned on and now returned a more enthusiastic shake. "I see, yes, thank you," he said, his mind turning over.

Snape gestured in Ron's direction. "And this Harry's Second Witness, Ronald Weasley."

Hobble turned to Ron. "I can see the family resemblance. I've met your mum and dad at the Ministry when I've had business there, though only in passing. I spend most of my time in court, of course." He gave Snape a knowing glance, to which Snape returned daggers. He looked away quickly and suddenly became very conscious of his briefcase, which was of very elegant dragonhide, also green, with spikes along the outer edges.

"I'll just start getting ready while we wait for the others," he said rapidly, and began to pull out piles of papers from his case, until Snape's desk was nearly overflowing, though the briefcase looked like it might only hold a small novel. He muttered to himself as he stacked and organized the papers.

Just as he finished and turned around, the door opened and Mrs. Weasley bustled in, followed by Aunt Petunia and Dudley. She greeted Snape with a handshake, which he returned with diffidence. Then she turned to Aunt Petunia and Dudley.

Harry thought he could not have been more surprised that they had even shown up. He had assumed that Uncle Vernon would simply not allow it and he would have to make some excuse, and probably fill out about 100 more forms to explain their absence. But she was here, with Dudley in tow, looking for all the world like he might pass out at any moment, gaping open- mouthed at the room with its tall windows, magical instruments, and strangely dressed occupants. But now, they both fit right in, at least in their manner of dress. His aunt and cousin were now decked out in proper dress robes, including shoes and hats. Aunt Petunia was in a blue robe with a matching conical hat featuring a long white feather. She quivered as though she would have preferred to sink into the floor, but Mrs. Weasley just beamed.

"Isn't she just lovely, we were so lucky to find this. And it was on sale, a real steal," she gushed. "I wouldn't have wanted you to be uncomfortable, my dear," Mrs. Weasley said, taking Petunia's hand. "It can be hard to be the odd man, or woman, out." No doubt Mrs. Weasley meant well, but Petunia could only nod mutely and recoil. Mrs. Weasley went on, oblivious to Aunt Petunia's discomfort, turning to Dudley, who shrank back, as if that were possible, as she took the sleeve of his robe. "And Dudley, I couldn't have imagined how wonderful this looks on you. It really brings out your color!"

And it did, indeed. Dudley's face nearly matched the maroon shade, which Harry noted was similar to Ron's.

"And we had such a good time shopping, didn't we?" At last she seemed to become uncomfortably aware that she was the only one speaking and that Snape and Hobble were looking quite ready to get on with things. Aunt Petunia remained uncomfortably silent, but managed a small, nervous smile. Dudley seemed dazed, as though he'd been woken before noon on a Saturday.

Snape cleared his throat and said "This is Advocate Arboreus Hobble, and I am Headmaster of Hogwarts, Severus Snape." At this, Aunt Petunia gasped and stared at him.

"S-s-s-everus Snape?" she choked out, looking at him with some combination of fear, revulsion, and recognition.

"Yes," said Snape, unsurprised.

"You grew up in Spinner's End, I remember you. You were Lily's... friend, weren't you?" she rambled on.

"Yes," Snape replied shortly.

"Well, she told me all about you…" she began.

Snape raised a hand slightly and she stopped suddenly, as though she was concerned that he would hex her into silence otherwise. "Everyone necessary is here, perhaps we should begin."

"Yes," she said hurriedly, snapping her mouth shut and stepping back protectively in front of Dudley, though her skinny frame offered little protection to her son's height and width. She kept a wary eye on the Headmaster.

Hobble cleared his throat and began. "We are here today to witness the joining in bond of Harold James Potter to Severus Snape. As such, you who stand in witness today, Harry's blood relatives and Severus's … chosen witnesses, agree that this bond should take place and acknowledge that heretofore they shall take on both the obligations and prosperity of the other, in perpetuity. If you so agree, please raise your wands." Mrs. Weasley raised hers, while Aunt Petunia looked confused.

"Oh, dear," said Mrs. Weasley in embarrassment. "I hadn't thought of that. What should we do, Mr. Hobble?"

Mr. Hobble looked amazed. Mrs. Weasley leaned in to him and muttered, "They're Muggles, but they're the only family he's got."

"I see," Hobble said, and dug in his bag. "Hmm, that's not the one, nope not that one." Snape gave an impatient grunt, and suddenly Hobble found just what he needed. "Here it is," he said, drawing out a thick, dusty volume from the sleek bag. "Muggle witnesses to a bonding….page 394." Harry considered that a good omen. "Muggles in attendance at a bonding ceremony will raise their right hands, as they would do to pledge in a Muggle ceremony. Good solution, very empathetic, though I can't imagine what it means. Alright then, raise your right hands, if that's what you do…"

And so they did. Harry was just relieved that they didn't object, although the way Dudley was eyeing the fierce looking dragon briefcase suggested he was worried for the condition of his leg if he did.

And so it continued. For hours. Papers were signed here, initialled there. Wands and right hands raised repeatedly. It really did mean more than Harry knew. The forms noted his bank accounts, the house at Grimmauld place, as well as any future holdings or property he might earn or come into. His pile of papers grew higher and higher as they worked through them all. They documented his obligation to Snape, featuring debts, liens on property, prison sentences, ransoms, all in effect until death, spelling out in painful detail any of a large number of infirmities and frailties, none of which would sever the bond, other than death. Then they documented the extended procedure to document and confirm the death. And then the funeral obligations. Wizards and witches left no possibility unexplored in contemplating the future.

Then, they began the same, in reverse, for Snape's obligations to Harry, which also included schooling, a future wife, possible future children (enumerated only up to six, at which Mrs. Weasley snorted), in addition to covering his funeral in the event of his death prior to Snape.

But now the remaining pile of papers seemed impossibly short. Harry waited for Hobble to drag out another pile of papers to detail Snape's property, but he did not do so. The Advocate looked around, until Snape said coldly "That is all, Hobble."

Hobble snapped up, looked highly embarrassed, then lifted the paper, reading it closely. "Harold James Potter will be partner in the fortune of Severus Snape in the measure of 4,583 Galleons, 26 sickels, and 34 knuts." Hobble looked at Harry expectantly, but Harry remained silent.

Harry had more than that the day he found out he was a wizard. That wasn't even half a year's salary for a first-year professor, never mind an experienced teacher or Headmaster. Snape didn't seem like a person who tended to spend excessively, given that even his dress robes worn today appeared to be not only ancient, but very rarely worn and not extravagant. He wore no gold, silver, or jewels. And wouldn't he have inherited his family's home in Spinner's End, having no other family with whom to split it?

Snape met no one's eyes, but stared impassively at the empty place on the desk where the last parchment had come from.

"Alrighty, then," said Hobble, breaking the very uncomfortable silence. "The Binding." The Advocate stuffed all of the considerable stacks of paper and the large reference book back into the bag, which appeared to chew and swallow them, to Dudley's wide-eyed horror. The desk now clean, the lawyer stepped away from it.

Harry thought this was a rather unceremonious way to end a Wizard ceremony, and he was right.

Hobble drew a short silver dagger from the inside pocket of his waistcoat, and gestured for Snape and Harry to face one another. Petunia, Dudley, Ron, and Mrs. Weasley made an outer circle, with Mrs. Weasley giving Petunia the better position beside Snape and Harry ("So you can see," she whispered.).

The silence in the room was enormous, which Snape broke, saying "You can still back out of this, Potter. The papers can be burned."

Harry looked up at the gaunt and pale man, thinking of all he owed him even before this moment. "Never," he said. He drew back the sleeve of his robe, knowing what was coming. Snape's expression never changing, he did the same. With a quick slice and slice, he drew blood from both Harry's and Snape's wrists, while Mrs. Weasley muttered "Combino perpetua" as she waves her wand over Petunia's shoulder. A yellow golden rope emerged, binding their hands together.

Yet again, Harry felt it strange to touch the Potion Master's hand, and remembered with a small grin one of the first times Snape had touched him, giving him a smack across the head in detention for some impertinent comment. The smile passed away as he felt some of Snape's life force enter his own blood, a rush of determination, fierceness, and loyalty that he hadn't felt so strongly before. Snape seemed surprised as well, by whatever it was from Harry that entered him. Harry hoped it was some part of his mother, some part of love, some gift of spirit that could invade the fortress that was Severus Snape.

Mrs. Weasley had tears in her eyes as the golden rope faded and Harry released Snape's hand. She nearly hugged Snape, then thought the better of it and hugged Harry extra hard, instead, then Ron, for unknown reasons. Petunia sat down, as did Dudley, relieved to sit after so long, and pleased that nothing had bitten her or exploded.

"Sir, what should I call you now?" Harry asked, when the others had departed downstairs to attend to the small reception that was planned.

"Headmaster, Sir, or Professor will do nicely, Potter. Don't imagine that this will earn you favors over other students or that you can address me casually now," Snape retorted.

"Of course not, sir, I wouldn't dream of it," Harry said quickly. "But in private, when it's just us, I mean, not in front of other students."

Snape paused and considered. "What did Mr. Black allow himself to be called, then?" he said, biting down on Sirius' name.

"Sirius, sir. I just called him Sirius. And he called me Harry."

Snape looked mildly annoyed. "Severus, then, Potter. You can call me Severus. But only at times when I am acting in my capacity as your godfather, understood?"

"Yes, sir, understood." Harry paused, anxious at trying out a new name for his Headmaster. "You can count on it, Severus."

Snape looked like he was ready to bark a reply, insisting on respect, as he had so many times before. He stared into the fire for a moment too long, then said, "Alright then, Harry, let's go down to the Great Hall. I believe Mrs. Weasley may have arranged a small reception at which we are expected to appear. The first of my no doubt many obligations."

And indeed, it really was a small reception, taking up one end of the Gryffindor table. The house elves had prepared a mouth-watering spread of elaborately decorated cookies, small sandwiches, and fruit. Harry was pleased to see no Chocolate Frogs, Puking Pastilles, or Every-flavor beans, in deference to his Muggle guests. Aunt Petunia, Dudley and Mrs. Weasley were already there, chatting away with the Advocate. Dudley, after having given the food a careful stare, wary of the possibilities, had allowed his hunger to overcome his fears. His plate was piled high and he was making what Harry hoped were happy sounds as he bore down on the delicious treats, crumbs tumbling down the folds of the dress robe. Now more in his element, he seemed more able to ignore his distaste for Harry and the Magical World in general.

Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville were there, as were McGonagall and Hagrid, all Harry's chosen guests. Harry noted that Snape hadn't invited anyone as his guests. But who would he have invited, Harry mused. Maybe the Malfoys? Horace Slughorn?

Seeing Harry and Snape approach, the group stopped their conversation and handed them both a goblet of wine. Harry accepted his, but was secretly wishing he could have a go at the buffet table. The morning had been a long one and his breakfast had worn off at least two hours before.

"Harry, Severus, congratulations," McGonagall said, looking vaguely misty-eyed, with nods all around. They raised their glasses and drank. Harry sensed that this should be a joyous occasion, but one emotion that hadn't come across from Snape's blood was joy.

Aunt Petunia approached with trepidation, speaking with Harry first. "Well, Harry," she started. Harry couldn't remember a time that she'd spoken his name before without admonition, given how much she loathed him and the magic world. "Will you introduce me to your godfather?" He could not have been more surprised that this was her remark, but her very presence was shocking enough. And she brought Dudley. And they both allowed themselves to be dressed. There seemed to be nothing further she could do to surprise him today. She must be extremely motivated to be sure the responsibility for his future rested someplace else other than her.

He choked slightly on his sandwich, imagining this going as poorly as an introduction could. But then she had mentioned upstairs they had grown up near one another. He cringed again, knowing that no good could come of this, knowing that she thought all magical people, including her own sister, were freaks. And Snape _was_ something of a freak, even within the Magical world.

"I don't think…" he began, attempting to turn her back towards Mrs. Weasley and McGonagall, who were discussing the current career and family paths of the many Weasley children, all Gryffindors while at Hogwarts. But Petunia was having none of it. With no inkling of the sensitivity of the current situation, she raised a hand and called out, "Severus? Severus Snape? I remember you, you were a good friend of Lily's, weren't you? It's me, Petunia Evans, well, now I'm Mrs. Dursley, but you have known me as…." Aunt Petunia strode over to where Snape stood without noticing that he was off to the side away from the others and clearly not interested in socialization with the group, but merely fulfilling his obligation by being technically present.

Snape's glare would normally have frozen any sensible person, magical or not, in their shoes, but Petunia had apparently either started early on the wine for the celebration, or was simply not accustomed to the effects of goblin wine. Or both. She charged ahead fearlessly. Harry could feel his stomach sink, as he followed closely behind her.

"She spoke of you so much, you know. She was so sorry you had your falling out. She was always so worried about you. I'm sure she'd be pleased to see you doing so well now…"

McGonagall appeared next to him, saying in a low, warning voice, "She's a Muggle, Severus…"

Snape put down his unsampled glass slowly, turned on his heel and strode purposefully from the room, finishing his exit with the crash of the large oaken doors out to the Entrance Hall. Harry was grateful that Snape had managed not to cast a silencing spell or a hex, which must have required tremendous restraint on his part. Even Harry was tempted to at least toss a weak Obliviation her way.

Harry said, "Excuse me," and turned to follow him, but both McGonagall and Mrs Weasley grabbed each of his arms and pulled him back.

"Not now, Harry," said McGonagall. "Give him time."

"Yes," agreed Mrs. Weasley, breathlessly. "Maybe a week or two."

Aunt Petunia looked quite put out. "Good grief, what was THAT all about? Come now, Dudley, we should be going." Harry couldn't have agreed more.

"Yes, probably so," he said, a little too eagerly. He made a desperate gesture to Mrs. Weasley, who got the message right away.

"Yes, indeed. Let's get you back to Little Whinging before Mr. Dursley starts to miss you. How long are college visits supposed to take?" she asked, taking Aunt Petunia by the arm and steering her a little too forcefully towards the doors that Snape had just crashed out of. Dudley took several sandwiches and discovered the value of the many pockets that lined wizard robes.

Harry received an awkward, somewhat woozy hug from Aunt Petunia and give Dudley at least a slight wave that was returned before they shuffled off. Harry felt emotionally drained. One part of him wanted to find Snape and apologize for Petunia and her outburst, but the other was in hysterics imagining Uncle Vernon fooled by a cover story of a college visit for Dudley.


	12. Chapter 12: The Forbidden Forest

**Ah, Petunia. Now you've gone and done it. Enjoy this chapter as much I enjoyed writing it. Reviews, if you are so moved.**

"You need to talk to your godfather," Ron moaned, so despondent he put down his fork full of spaetzel. "And soon."

"I've tried," Harry said desperately. "He won't see me, or anyone else for that matter. Says he doesn't have the time."

"I'll say. Between his class load and the detentions he's hosting every evening, I can't even figure out when he sleeps." Ron managed to get over his despondency to a sufficient degree to help himself to more sausage and sauerkraut.

"What's he having them do, anyhow? It's like he's raising an Army," Ginny said, with a wink at Harry.

"Oh right, you haven't had the pleasure of his displeasure lately, have you? We're all doing a bunch of preparations for different variations on potions, tossing in a few new things from America or putting stuff in terra cotta cauldrons instead of iron. Tedious stuff, because every ones almost the same, but different, so you can never just repeat things. You actually have to measure every single component individually. It's a real mind-bender, tedious and non-repetitive at the same time."

"What's the theory behind it?" Hermione asked, now intrigued. "Which potion are you working on and how's he changing it?"

Ron stared at her with aggravation. "I have no idea. He doesn't lower himself to confide that to us."

"Well, can't you tell from the components, or is it ones we've never done before?"

Ron looked over at Harry. "I think she WANTS detention now. That's sick." He looked up at the clock and put down his fork. "You'll need to do something major in class to get detention. Like look at him sideways. Should be easy, even for you." He grabbed his bag and headed down to the dungeon, for another extended evening of measuring, weighing, labeling, and cleaning under the cold glare of Severus Snape.

Morgan Hunter sat alone in her sitting room, staring into the fireplace as the coals burned down. She was exhausted. Now that Professor Snape had gotten student volunteers to assist in preparations, the volume of work they were doing was astounding. She'd never seen anyone so focused and so dedicated. By the time she'd finished her classes, he would have already started a new series. She joined him, working right up until dinner time, and over the weekend, as well. He seemed to want to tackle every potion from both continents within the year (now really only 9 months). While this suited her purposes, it was physically and mentally draining to execute.

Ah, but the results! She smiled to imagine them. They would start testing some of the better formulae as soon as they could figure out a good way to recruit volunteers. House-elves were out, as they didn't respond to potions the same way as humans. Using students raised a tricky set of ethical issues of coercion, as did prisoners in Azkaban. And it seemed unwise to involve the staff, given the consequences to the school should something go amiss. They did what they could to characterize the results from observation of the products, but practical testing would be proceeding far slower. The plan was to recruit ordinary wizards and witches from Hogsmeade, but how they would compensate them was a mystery. The school had almost no money, according to the Headmaster, and everything was being used to rebuild.

The pace of repairs had accelerated recently, with a new round of glassmakers being employed to fix the many windows that had been smashed out. It was a sight to behold, to watch them wave their wands and mutter spells and see thousands of tiny bits of glass rise from what had appeared to be gravel and reform into panes. Many were still incomplete, and the speaking of further spells was needed to fill the frames. In the US, wizards and witches with such skills were among the wealthiest of the crafters, due to the scarcity of the talent. The ones who could create beautiful designs with colored glass were the most sought after, and Hogwarts had at least six such wizards and witches on the grounds for the past week. Although the windows were lovely, with the low-hanging sun shining through scenes of Quidditch victories by each house, the battle of Hogwarts showing the house-elves joining the defenders, and a series of scenes of merpeople, Hunter knew that they each cost a fortune. Perhaps this school had a larger endowment than the Sedona school, which was considerably more recent than the Salem Academy, which was far more recent that Hogwarts.

She considered the likelihood that funds would be available next year for her to stay on. She was of two minds. One, the school was spending too much and there would be nothing left. Or two, there was some large endowment that would be available for hiring once the repairs were completed. Given the rather modest nature of most meals and the overall shabbiness of the place (war damage notwithstanding), she supposed it was the first.

And with that in mind, she steeled her determination to match Snape's capacity for work and to get as many publications and speaking engagements as possible this year and deal with next year later.

Snape attempted to fill his mind with work, the better to smooth over the newly-raw wounds opened by that ignorant Muggle, Petunia Dursley. Of course he had recognized the risk of having her and her hideous offspring present at the Binding, but rules were rules and couldn't be put aside except in the most extreme circumstances. And the condition of being obtuse was hardly unprecedented, even within the Magical community, though markedly more common among Muggles, he mused. His patience at an end even before breakfast most days, he looked for comfort in the simple pleasures of assigning detentions on these evenings when the outside weather was at its most desirable. The students, particularly the older ones, enjoyed the earlier dusk, the better to find shadows and warmth with one another. Disrupting that nonsense should have improved his mood, but neither detentions nor romance interrupted brought him any measure of relief.

His time executing the research plans were welcome respites, demanding his full attention and taking him away from thoughts of Lily. The requirements of exact timing, precise measuring, consistent brewing left little capacity to think of other things. What effect this might have on his collaborator had yet to occur to him as he attempted to sustain his maximum efforts for as long as possible before being forced to stop for the day and take in dinner. Between the meal, the detentions that followed, and the brief time before sleep overtook him, he still had more time to think than he wanted. The old familiar feelings of remorse and strategizing constantly now fit him more poorly than before. For what would the end be? What was he working for now? Yes, better potions, but then what? Decades, perhaps even a century, of sameness lay before him, empty and predictable.

Indeed, as predicted, after several weeks of extensive potion-making arrays, the storeroom was becoming depleted. An excursion to the Forbidden Forest would be needed and the Autumnal Equinox by the full moon presented an optimal opportunity. Snape found himself in an unfamiliar mood of pleasant anticipation. It had been some time since he had had the opportunity to forage at leisure and the concurrence of the equinox and full moon promised full potency for several items that favored moonlight.

The Potions Master prepared his sample case with clean vials, clippers, a small spade, a notebook, and other tools. A turn in the forest at night was just what he needed to relax and prepare for the remainder of the work ahead for the fall term.

Hunter met the evening with a mixture of considerable fatigue and warm anticipation. Having completed a full set of preparations combining Old World and New World formulas, she was now eager for her introduction to one of the most crucial aspects of Potion-making, the retrieval of the most active ingredients. While books and recipes could form a basis for knowledge, nothing could replace the experience of hunting and gathering the items by hand. This was a crucial aspect of moving from a mere potion mixer, following others' instructions using purchased materials, to a true Master or Mistress of Potions. Identification, location, related species, all played a role in the quality of the resultant formulation. She mentally prepared for what would surely be a full night of new information.

Hunter needed to hurry to keep up with the long, purposeful strides of her collaborator as he strode out into the night, well-lit by the rising moon. Usually taciturn, even more so lately, tonight he was in full lecture mode, releasing an almost endless stream of facts and observations. She tried to listen, observe, and retain the information, but it was coming at such a pace, she found it difficult to retain much.

Now they were getting deep into the forest. The previously brightly-lit paths were now darkened by the tall, dense trees and thick leaves. Hunter, who was more accustomed to sunlight or open desert lit by starlight than dense forests in the darkness, was anxious to keep close to Snape, knowing she would find it difficult or impossible to find her way back alone. She'd also heard tales of the creatures of the forest from the rest of the staff and didn't care to meet them alone, disoriented in darkness. She kept feeling for her wand, appreciating its reassuring presence.

After some time, with Snape's sample jars beginning to fill, they arrived in a small clearing that allowed more of the light from the moon, now directly overhead, to illuminate the scene. In this remote part of the forbidden forest, Hunter at last stopped to observe her companion as he continued to gather items from the perimeter of the clearing, as well as to catch her breath.

By the light of the full moon, he was a man transformed. His skin, sallow and pale in sunlight and the torches of the castle, now glowed as if from within with a silver radiance that was captivating. His hair, unkempt and greasy, now was wild and glossy. His robes, intimidating in the halls of Hogwarts, now seemed to flutter on the soft moonlit breezes. This was a man meant for the night.

Snape seemed not to notice she was no longer beside him as he continued his ongoing lecture on the properties and uses of the things around them.

"This patch of dittany and wormwood are well-situated to cross-pollinate and grow together, which strengthens both their properties. I'll take a few shoots to keep and then bury a some seeds to increase the growth. By next summer, we'll be able to harvest enough to make Elixir of Erised enough for the entire staff." He replaced the now-filled vial in the case, shook some seeds out of a seed pod and buried them near the wormwood.

Hunter was taken aback by the rapid evolution of her feelings, the change of her perspective. She had grown to respect him, his talent and skill, his deep understanding of potions and potential held within each part of a formula in a way no other witch or wizard she'd even encountered had an inkling of. But this was new, this attraction. It was more than intellectual, more than professional.

For the past few weeks, she been continually impressed by his knowledge and skill, not to mention his stamina in the labs. She lay down exhausted every evening, her head awash in the layers of her days. Classes, exams, grading, the research. And she was working on a few talks for the other schools for later in the year, but found little time to prepare.

As she continued to observe him carefully, she noted that he radiated from within and she was captured in his spell. Was it a spell? She stopped to consider this, but could not find evidence of Magic having been placed upon her. Utterly distracted from her gathering and hunting, she sat down the moonlit clearing amongst a patch of small blue flowers and silently watched him as he collected bark here, leaves there, insects and worms, and flowers elsewhere. Each movement was fluid and efficient, items placed into vials and replaced in pockets. After what seemed to her like an eternity, and an eternity of yearning, he turned and gave a small involuntary jerk as he noticed she was no longer near. He turned around and strode back to where she sat in the clearing.

"Ah, you've found the midnight bluebells at their most potent at a full moon on the equinox."

She had not taken notice of the flowers around her before and she did not now. She met his gaze squarely, her heart pounding as she realized the depth of her feelings. This man was the one. Her destiny, her match. Whatever his odd manners, she was captivated by his mind, how much they shared in Potion-making, and now by his being. She could imagine herself through the years, working side by side during the days, lying side by side for the nights. Was she projecting her fantasy on a man she knew but little of? No. She felt as though clarity was suddenly hers, that all questions were gone.

She gestured beside her, beckoning him to join her there with the bluebells. Casting a doubtful glance, he sat, but did not recline or relax.

"Are you tired, Professor Hunter? We have enough of what was depleted. We can return to the castle if the late hour does not agree with you." He eyed her inquiringly.

Drinking in his nearness, she was in heaven. His face, still aglow, so near her own. His scent, redolent of the blendings and brewings from the lab, mixed with the night air and the perfume of the forest itself to excite her inner senses. She closed her eyes to better savor the many sensations washing over her in this moment.

"You are sleepy," he said crisply. "We should return. Even without the morning class of Potions, you'll be tired. Come, let's head back." He made to stand, but she put a hand on his arm, restraining him not with force, but with suggestion. To touch him seemed like an offense, the crossing of an unseen barrier. His demeanor previously had always been so prickly, she had kept a good distance between them. She felt him stiffen under her touch, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"Severus," she said softly, her voice barely a whisper, though there was no one anywhere nearby to overhear.

Of course she'd used his given name before, but not with this tone, not with such a welcome invitation before. No one had ever spoken to him like this, though he recognized what the tone implied. He was temporarily stunned.

"Let's stay," she said. Her hand, now on his arm, drifted upward to his face. Touching him this way, she felt a jolt of electricity through her arm and down to her toes, and up through her forehead. Emboldened by his not pushing her away as she had expected, she now put her hand behind his neck and pulled him towards her as she lay back among the flowers in the moonlit clearing. As she gazed up at him, the moon aligned just behind him, and she delighted in the confluence of his handsome radiance and the full orb glowing just behind him. He seemed at an impasse, neither moving toward her nor pulling away. Slowly, the space between them grew smaller. At last her lips met his.

He was warmer than she'd expected, his mouth matching hers as he returned her kiss. Soft and tender, as though he was afraid to damage her. He was barely moving, as though he was unsure of what to do, though giving no sign of retreat. She found that she would probably need to take the lead, and she touched his cheek with her fingertips, which he reached up to touch as she did so, still so silent, his look one of detachment and restraint, despite the raging intensity that was growing inside her. She felt the rush of her blood in her ears as his hands found her face, his eyes closing slightly as he did so. His kiss, as first gentle, tentative, now became more forceful, and she returned the forcefulness, delighting that her feelings seemed to be mutual.

"Oh, Severus," she groaned, and pulled his waist nearer to her, as his kisses moved from her mouth, to her cheek, and then met her shoulder. With a sudden quick movement, she turned him to his back. She expected his surprise, some resistance, but he offered none, only allowed himself to be thrown over, to be covered by her, lying on his back, her hair drifting across his own, a confused and startled look on his face. She stopped and paused to look at him, to admire him in the night, her rapid breathing now shallow and hoarse, as was his. His face, his long hair tangled with the blue flowers in the moonlight, was more than she could bear, more than she could have imagined. She touched his face, exploring the planes of his cheeks, his chin, his nose, his forehead. Tugging up three of the bluebells in a tiny bouquet, she lay them on his chest. leaving them on his shirt as she attempted to unbutton his jacket.

"Morgan," he said, breaking his silence.

"Yes, Severus," she replied, breathlessly.

"Do Midnight Bluebells grow in the US?" he asked flatly, as she continued to fuss over these stubborn buttons.

Although this was not the conversation she was expecting, she replied factually. "No, I've never seen these before. They are beautiful in the night, like you." Her fingers seemed not to work, the buttons uncooperative.

The mood changed rapidly. Snape sat up with a jerk and tossed the flowers off his shirt. "Never? You've never seen these flowers before? Are you sure?" he asked, a clear note of concern in his voice.

Though now a little off-balance, she was not dissuaded from her purpose. She lay down next to him and put her arms around his shoulders. "No, never. Stop talking, Severus, and…" She tried to draw him closer yet again, but now he resisted.

"Professor Hunter, we need to return to the castle now," he said definitively, allowing no debate, a final decision.

She eyed him in confusion. They had been having such a nice time a moment ago, she had such hopes. "No," she said simply. "It's so nice here. With you. Let's stay." And put her arms around his neck, pulling him down towards her again. But this time, he resisted, pulling up strongly against her grip. He stood and fastened the leather strap to close the vial case.

"We need to return," he said. In one swift, strong motion, he gathered her up in his arms and began a fast-paced walk back towards the castle.

Hunter shifted from confusion and was now overjoyed. She pulled herself closer to Snape, enjoying the strength of his embrace and the feeling of being literally swept off her feet and carried away. As much as she enjoyed the forest and the moonlight, she looked forward to the events to come as he continued rapidly back towards the castle, bathed in moonlight, only a few winks of candlelight from within the castle at this late hour. They emerged from the forest and circled the lake, Hunter still clinging to him, overjoyed at this most unexpected but delightful turn of events, nearly giggling with anticipation as they approached the front doors. What would the rest of the night hold? After their passion in the forest, the tenderness of his kiss, the rising emotion, what would the rest of the night indoors hold? Her mind raced, imagining the possibilities.


	13. Chapter 13: Amoreverselixir

**Welcome, readers. I had thought to leave you hanging for a bit before continuing, but I need to upload when I can. I'm writing this for my daughter, and both of US are getting impatient to find out how the story proceeds and ends. I welcome your input, feedback, suggestions, critiques. How's my pace? Did the last chapter get your heart racing? This one should be interesting, too, though I am looking forward to Chapter 12, as well. ;-)**

 **Happy reading!**

As they approached the doors to the castle, the silence of the night was met with only the sound of his boots on the stones and her rapid breathing.

"Severus, you can put me down, I can walk," she said teasingly. "What will the students think, if any of them should be awake? Imagine the rumors…"

Snape muttered under his breath something about having been the subject of student rumors for years, but did put her down gently. In the Entrance Hall he stopped and bellowed "Filch, get Madame Pomfrey, Professor Hunter is ill and needs immediate attention." The sudden volume of his voice was less shocking to her than his words. She stepped backward and looked at him in stunned confusion.

"Ill?" she hissed, turning him forcefully by his arm. "What are you talking about, Severus? Quiet down, you'll wake the whole school." But before she could continue her admonition, Filch appeared from the dimness, skinny legs peeking out from under a tattered red plaid nightshirt, clearly unhappy to have been disturbed at this unconscionable hour.

"Professor Snape, it's very late, I'm sure Madame Pomfrey is in her own rooms by now."

Filch cowered as Snape took two steps closer to him, towering over him and glaring. "Professor Hunter is ill," he said through gritted teeth. "Would you like to explain to Madame Pomfrey why you would not alert her to an ill member of the staff? Do you have any idea what might happen if Professor Hunter is not taken care of immediately?" he growled down at the hunchbacked caretaker, whose only response was to scamper off towards the hospital wing.

Filch now gone, Hunter placed what she meant to be a calming hand on Snape's arm, which he drew back quickly, as though concerned for some kind of contamination. "Why did you tell him that I am ill? I feel fine. Madame Pomfrey will be as unamused by your prank as I am, I'm sure." She drew closer to him as they waited in the faint torchlight of the empty, silent hall. "Let's take your sample case down to the lab and then continue what we started in the forest." Now she pressed him against the wall and held his hands in hers.

"Dr. Hunter, you have no idea what you've just been exposed to," Snape began, pushing her away and stepping out away from the wall into the middle of the Entrance Hall. He seemed ready to say more, but Hunter cut him off.

"I am fine, I am going back to my apartment and YOU can explain to Poppy just why you needed to wake her in the middle of the night with this poorly-conceived joke!" she spat. She turned on her heels and strode back towards her rooms.

How could this have happened, she wondered miserably. The moment in the forest was so lovely, and held such promise. Now, only a few minutes later, she was walking off in a huff, turning her back on the man only moments before she was enthralled by. Rather than looking forward to some blissful evening, she knew only a quiet, cold, and solitary room awaited her now. She'd done everything right, hadn't she? Her long brown hair, usually tightly braided, was free-flowing, framing her face. Her skin was too pale, she knew, but her usual tan was fading fast in the low sunlight this far north, not to mention the fact that she spent the better part of the daylight hours in the dungeons. She wore a new woolen cape, the height of the current fashion, in a remarkably becoming forest green. She'd been an able research partner, keeping up the mad pace that he was setting of late. She'd been as agreeable as possible. What could possible have led to this outcome? She carefully reviewed her words (few) and could find nothing offensive or particularly repellant about them. Perhaps they were too simple, perhaps he valued more expression. That seemed unlikely, given that he had barely said a word most days in the past few weeks.

Perhaps in the morning, she would be ready to consider her next move. But it was all so strange, why would he say she was ill and go get the healer? If he had changed his mind and thought the better of having a romantic relationship with his employee, it would be a simple matter to say so. He'd been very direct about his opinions previously.

A very strange joke, indeed. She silently hoped he would not let her walk away, but would pursue her.

She had hardly taken three steps when she felt his hand on her shoulder. Ah, going to apologize now, I suppose, she thought, her spirits rising, ready to forgive in an instant. She allowed herself to be turned, still hoping the emotions of the forest would return and her more optimistic image of the evening play out. But Snape's expression was not one of desire, but one of concern.

"Morgan," he said gently. "The bluebells were at their most potent tonight. You need to see Poppy, perhaps she can sort this out."

Poppy arrived just then, her sleeping robes still wrinkled and her eyes red from sleep interrupted. "Severus, what is going on? Filch said Professor Hunter is sick? What's the story?" She approached Hunter and grasped her hand and began examining it.

"I'm sorry Professor Snape had you disturbed, but he is quite mistaken. I am fine, please, let's all just go to bed."

Madame Pomfrey cast Snape an accusatory look. "Explain," she growled.

"Professor Hunter is under the influence of midnight bluebells. She discovered a patch of them while we were gathering potions ingredients," he explained.

Poppy was not cottoning on.

"And…. I assume there's more to this story."

Snape continued. "The midnight bluebell does not grow in the United States. This was her first encounter." He stopped here, as Poppy drew in her breath and squeezed Hunter's hand more firmly.

"And it's a full moon," she said. Snape nodded. "At the equinox," she added, concern etching her face. "Let's go up to the infirmary."

Hunter was having none of it. How had this gone so wrong, from delight to dismal? "No thank you, I'm fine. The Headmaster is just playing some foolish prank. Let's all just go to bed." she pleaded to him, taking his hand and drawing him away from the passageway to the infirmary.

Rather than allowing himself to be led, Snape scooped her up yet again, saying into her ear "Please don't make a scene, Dr. Hunter. You don't want to be the source of student rumors, either."

Poppy took the potions case and followed, closely observing the apparent delight on Morgan Hunter's face as her mood shifted and she now settled into Snape's arms and allowed herself to be carried up to the infirmary. This was a serious case.

Once they arrived in the hospital wing, Snape deposited Hunter on a bed. He was pleased to discover that the ward was otherwise unoccupied, the Whomping Willow's victims now recovered and the Quidditch injuries not yet serious enough this early in the season. Hunter allowed Poppy to examine her eyes and heart and hands. She found it aggravating and insulting that Poppy only asked Snape what happened, not her.

"Severus, tell me how this happened, exactly," Poppy ordered, as she took notes in her chart and continued to examine Hunter's nose and mouth.

"As I said, we were gathering ingredients on this most opportune of nights, with a full moon at the equinox. Many items are at their most potent now."

"Yes, I know, please get to the point."

Snape slowed his explanation, as though he were talking to a particularly slow student. "She inadvertently found a full patch of the bluebells and proceeded to lie down among them."

"With the expected effect?" Poppy asked pointedly, now taking her eyes from Hunter and regarding Snape.

Patchy ruddiness rose in his pallid face and he wrung his hands. "Yes," he said. Then he followed quickly with "I figured the situation out quickly before things got out of hand and brought her immediately to you."

Madame Pomfrey smiled and patted Hunter's hand. "This is not a case for me, this is a potions case," she said with surprise in her voice. "She needs some of your Amoreverselixir. You don't need me, Severus." She drew herself up and made to leave.

"As you request, Poppy. I'll be back directly," he said, and strode quickly from the room, his movements as smooth and efficient as ever, with the only sound the swish of his robes as they billowed out behind him.

Poppy turned back to her patient, whose glance followed the form of the Potions Master until he was out of sight. Only then did Hunter seem to come back to herself and acknowledge the healer.

"Dr. Hunter, if you don't mind my asking, how are you finding working with Professor Snape?" she asked conversationally, as she made a few notes in her chart, seating herself beside the bed.

It was as though a dam had been opened. "Poppy, it's wonderful, more exciting than I could even have imagined. He's amazing, so well-read, such a sharp mind." Her gaze drifted off to somewhere on the back wall of the room as she continued on. "He really gets it, you know, about how ingredients meld together. We are working on how to combine New World and Old World potions to create new and more potent formulas. We've only just got started, and there's so much more yet that we can do." She suddenly realized the metaphor and continued, saying "Can I speak to you as one woman to another, Poppy? It's all confidential, right?"

Madame Pomfrey nodded her agreement, continuing to scratch out notes in the chart with her quill.

"I'm looking forward to combining the Old and New Worlds in other ways, too. I know most people wouldn't see it, but to me, he's a marvelously handsome man, all that intelligence and skill, packaged in such a fine and strong body." She suddenly realized she's said more than was prudent and stopped, looking down at the floor in embarrassment.

The Healer only nodded, no particular amusement or shock in her expression as she continued to focus on the parchment in front of her. "Of course, of course," she said. "How long have you felt this way? Does he know your feelings?"

Hunter looked toward the window, pensive for a moment, considering. "I think I first noticed this a week or two ago. We had worked our way through a series of variations of Veritaserum, looking for ways to simplify the recipe or to allow the effects to last either longer or shorter, depending on the user's need. I was just so taken by how quickly he saw my method and how well he was able to come up with new ways to use the ingredients and extrapolate the possibilities. I've never really had an actual equal to work with before. It's exciting to discover so much potential, so quickly, to yearn for more hours in the day, so more progress can be made before the ideas slip away. And then that excitement and desire began to apply not only to the potions, but to the man himself." Here, she paused, her breathing having become rapid again, as she relived the emotions. "And then tonight, he was in the moonlight, and….." Here, she trailed off. "I was… and we… but then he said I was ill and we came here." Her eyes began to water with hurt and confusion. "I don't understand. What's the problem? I'm fine."

Poppy understood perfectly why Snape called for her. "It's the bluebells," she explained, setting aside her quill and chart and giving Hunter her full attention. "They are noted for their bonding effect. Typically, witch and wizard babies throughout Britain and most of Europe are greeted with tiny bouquets of them to both reinforce bonding to their families, but also to expose them to it early, so they are immune to the effects later in life." Hunter continued to look puzzled. "Dishonorable witches and wizards have been known to use bluebells to seduce reluctant lovers for centuries, if their intended hasn't already become insensitive to them. Not only are you sensitive, but these were at their peak of potency. And you lay down in a patch of them, I take it?" Hunter nodded silently, her eyes wide with disbelief. "So you got a strong dose. What else happened?"

Hunter looked ruefully at the moonlight coming through the window. "Nothing, nothing at all. Though not for lack of trying on my part. I put a few on his jacket and he immediately dragged me to you."

Poppy smiled. "I would expect nothing less from Severus Snape. That'll be him coming now." Hunter looked to the door and smiled brightly at his entrance, holding out her hand to him. He looked discomfited and concerned, but took a seat next to her and allowed his hand to be held.

"Thank Merlin I had a fresh vial," he said, handing a small cut crystal vial of purple swirling liquid to Poppy, who looked back at him, attempting and failing to keep her amusement from her eyes.

"How much do I give?" she asked, keeping the irony out of her voice and withdrawing the dropper.

"Two drops on the underside of the tongue is the usual adult dose," he noted.

Poppy took the dropper out and approached Hunter. "Open up, dear, let's help get you back to normal."

Hunter looked pleadingly to Poppy and then to Snape. "But I am normal. There's nothing wrong with me. Please, Severus, I'm not ill."

But Snape looked back to Madame Pomfrey with determination in his eyes. "Classic presentation. Please, proceed Poppy."

Hunter, previously merely confused and dismayed, now became furious. "No!" she shouted, releasing Snape's arm and standing. "There's nothing wrong with me, I won't take this, whatever it is."

Both the healer and the Potion Master regarded her with equal parts of concern and determination. "Severus, hold her down, please," Poppy requested.

Hunter leaped from the bed and drew her wand. Both of them stepped back, Snape having been quick enough to draw his wand out, as well. But he stood between her and the door, blocking her escape by any means other than spellwork, which she was loath to use on professional colleagues.

"Severus, why are you doing this?" she said accusingly, her extended wand hand shaking with rage. "I'm not sick. If I surprised you in the forest, it's only because I am surprised by my own feelings. I've never met anyone like you, never had an equal. How is it a sickness to be in love?" Her wild expression and gesturing with her wand caused Snape and Madam Pomfrey to step cautiously towards her.

"You aren't in love, Dr. Hunter, only under the influence of bluebells. Once we get the antidote in you, you'll realize this. You'll be back to normal," Snape said, taking obvious effort to keep his tone calm and even.

"I won't," she said, but with less strength than before. The options were to attempt to hex two colleagues at once, one her supervisor; engage in combat to escape through the door, only to be pursued to her apartment; or to allow them to administer this potion. She looked intently at Snape for a long moment. No one moved or spoke. Slowly, she lowered her wand. "There is no normal." She dropped her wand arm, the tears now spilling over, as she gave in. What would it feel like to have your love, your own emotion, stripped away? She was terrified, both of taking the potion and of not taking it. What if they were right? But it seemed so real, so powerful. Even now, mixed with the red-hot fury she directed towards him, she was thinking of the feeling of his hand on her shoulder, hoping for a repeat soon, knowing it was not likely. "What if it's real, what happens then?" she asked, her voice shaking.

Snape looked away with a scoff, but Poppy said, reassuringly, "Real emotions and feelings cannot be affected. It only reverses the effect of bluebells or other such substances or love potions. Nothing else will change, don't worry."

Still anxious, but seeing no way to avoid this without making a violent and disruptive scene, Hunter put away her wand, stepped forward, and opened her mouth. Poppy put two drops of the potion under her tongue. The taste wasn't foul like most potions, which mostly taste like licking the inside of a frog's intestine, and the lower intestine, at that. This gave the sensation like her mouth was being cleaned, then her throat, then a warm cleansing wave rippled gently and slowly out across her body. The metal frame of the sickbed creaked loudly against the silence as she sat down. They waited.

"Can you feel it working?" Poppy finally asked, as Snape remained standing apart from the bed, silent and observing, his wand put away, but still taking up the space between her and the door. "It should feel like a warm detoxification, for about 5 minutes, then a gradual release back to normalcy."

Hunter nodded glumly, the feeling still spreading, now down her arms and legs, up her neck and across her face. Finally, it reached her fingers and toes. She looked at her hands, but nothing visible was happening. The warmth slowly faded and she slumped down further. Snape approached her tentatively, sitting on the chair next to the bed.

"Is it over now? You felt the potion work?" he asked.

She nodded. They all sat together in the dimness of the room. Then, Poppy spoke briskly, jotting down a few notes, her quill vibrating over the chart. "There now, all back to normal." She stood and paced, muttering to herself as she wrote. "Subject reports resolution of bluebell effects. Case successfully treated." She closed the chart with a snap.

Hunter continued to sit, tears still in her eyes. "Don't be embarrassed," Snape said gently. "I take full responsibility, I should certainly have seen the risk of this to someone who hadn't been exposed. Consider yourself lucky; it could have been arcocythia, which may have been fatal at first exposure." He stood and extended his hand to her collegially. "Shall we call it a night, then?"

Poppy turned around from her chart. "Yes, I think so. Let's get what rest we can before breakfast is served." She shooed them out, handing the potions case to Snape. "Off you go, and a good night to you both." And she wandered off down the hall towards her apartment next to the infirmary.

Snape and Hunter walked slowly in the opposite direction, back towards the staff apartments. Once fully out of earshot and view of Madame Pomfrey, once they were considerably further along after she'd heard the door click shut, Hunter stopped.

"Severus, I'm sorry," she began hesitantly.

"As I said, Dr. Hunter, the apologies should be mine for not seeing the risks."

Hunter now looked up at him, wondering to herself, testing herself. Real or not real? She felt the same thrill of excitement at being so close. "Severus, I'm not sick, I never was. My feelings for you weren't caused by the bluebells. I could feel the Amoreverselixir work, but I still feel…." At this, she looked away and her voice trailed off. She had said too much, gone too far. Clearly, he did not feel the same way. Clearly, this was a one-way street. She stepped back reluctantly, shored herself up and began a slow walk back to her apartment, alone.

Snape watched her go, disappearing in the dimness of the hall. He might have said something, but yet again, he was stunned for the second time in one night, into silence. The elixir had been potent, he was certain of it. He'd made it himself. He could tell it had its intended effect on her by watching her reaction. How had it not worked? He wondered what other things she might have been exposed to, what other substances were known or thought to be resistant to Amoreverselixir. This might require additional research, particularly into combinations of Old and New World items. With a small shudder, he brought his attention back to the present moment, just before he was about to drop his case, filled with a fresh collection of specimens. It was a few more steps down the dark, cold corridor before he realized that his mouth felt odd. Tingly in some way.

Hunter waited until she heard his footsteps walking away, then turned to steal a look at him. Why was he heading back to the main entrance, and not going in the direction of his apartment or the dungeon to the storeroom? It was now very late, or else very early, depending on your reference point. Curious, she opted to follow him, staying well back in the shadows. Indeed, he was heading to the main entrance, where he slipped out in silence. She waited longer, knowing that the door might make some noise. She pushed the heavy oaken door, putting her shoulder into it, then slid out and closed the door as quietly as possible. Snape was now nearly across the lawns and to the edge of the forest. She gave up trying to simply walk quickly and took up a jog, to close the space between them before he reached the forest and she might lose the way. Once she reached the edge of the forest, she realized that she needed to keep as close to him as possible. The forest seemed even darker and denser than before and it would be easy to lose her way now, despite the moon, which was sitting far lower than before. She stayed far enough back to go unnoticed, but close enough to keep him in view.

He returned to the clearing, where he paused, looking across the place where only a few hours before she had held him in her arms, where she had kissed him. Despite the effects of the potion, she felt her emotions rise and a deep longing in her heart. Even in the lesser moonlight, he was still radiant, tall, and handsome.

At last, he resumed movement. He bent down, and began to rip up the bluebells, not stopping until every last blossom was plucked. He stuffed them into a bag, put the bag in his sample case, which he then fastened with a sharp tug. He then turned on his heel and began to come back along the path to the castle. She cowered down behind a pair of trees, hoping the breeze wouldn't take her dark green woolen cloak and wave it like a flag. She would be hard-pressed to explain herself.

Now he walked considerably more slowly and she had no trouble keeping up, for which she was grateful, as the moon was now fully set and it was nearly impossible for her to see anything in the dense forest. But Snape seemed to know the forest like the back his hand, despite the deep gloom. He made his way slowly back up the lawn to the main doors and quietly slipped within. Hunter waited for a few minutes for him to get far enough from the door that he might not hear her, then slipped quietly into the empty entrance hall. She proceeded back to her apartment, the walk every bit as cold and solitary as she'd pictured previously.

Snape slept deeply that short night, exhausted from the night's labors. But his dreams brought him more questions than answers, for they all featured a certain petite Potions Mistress.


	14. Chapter 14: The Morning After

**Good day, Readers. Sorry for the delay in getting the next chapter out. Things are getting complicated for our friends at Hogwarts, making the writing take a bit longer. This is a relatively short chapter, but fun to write. As always, I enjoy reading your reviews. Please leave your thoughts!**

At morning, Snape awoke far earlier than he wanted, given how little sleep he was allotted. Rubbing his forehead as he sat before standing, he tried to clear his mind and face the day ahead. As he dressed, he contemplated his classes and the school business that should be taken care of today, as well as the work of storing the items from last night's harvest. And thus brought his thoughts back to the evening before, after nearly 60 seconds thinking of other things. His thoughts vacillated between irritation at himself for not having foreseen the possible effects of the bluebells and reliving the electricity of her touch. He had known the bluebells were there, but had not given due consideration to the history of his foraging companion. He'd been thinking overmuch about the past in the weeks leading up to this (thanks to that Dursley woman), not devoting the appropriate amount of planning to the harvest. And such a rare occasion, such an opportunity for the most powerful, most magical substances! The evening hadn't been a total loss, but he would need to do a more complete and thoughtful assessment of the samples later in the day. He exited, replaced the charms on his door, and tried to focus his mind on his classes for the day.

Morgan Hunter awoke in the dim light of her apartment, wishing again that her room had larger windows that faced east or south, rather than these that were small, up very high, and faced north. The stained glass pattern was simple, but she wished it were yellow or clear, rather than deep jewel tones of amethyst, emerald, and cobalt. Should she even go to breakfast, or skip and wait until lunch? It was probably best to get things back to normal (whatever that was) as soon as possible, rather than delaying. She stood and then tried to decide what to wear. It was getting chillier during the nights, but still warm at midday. Something transitional, or layers? She opted for a low-key midnight blue robe in light wool, with a smaller hat. Understated. But it might bring to mind the bluebells. So be it. She quickly braided her hair tightly back and set out. They were to meet in the afternoon to catalogue and store the items from the night before. She worried for what to expect. Would he be as impatient and demanding of her as he was with students when things didn't go perfectly? Or would he simply grumble, as was more typical in his dealings with colleagues? Or would his kindness in the infirmary the night before (a surprising departure) show up again? Perhaps that was due to the presence of Mr. Filch and Madam Pomfrey. But they'd be alone in the afternoon. She didn't know what to expect. She decided to invite some of her 5th-year students to join her, to perhaps diffuse what might otherwise be a tense, unpleasant interaction.

Walking briskly to the staff table, concentrating on his own thoughts which continued in their turbulence, as always he took little notice the glances and mutterings of students, until he sat down to his plate of rashers and eggs, at which point their volume and obviousness became absurd. He glared out from the table, making as much eye contact as possible, enjoying the hasty looking away and rising redness in students' faces. At Professor Hunter's entrance shortly thereafter, more murmurings and some outright stares of disbelief.

Ron pulled his eyes away from Professor Hunter quickly and returned to shoveling in bacon. "I just can't see it. It's all just a stupid rumor. How could anyone...I mean….It's Snape, for crying out loud."

Hermione cast him a look of reproof. "Ron, there's someone for everyone. I think. I mean, surely even Professor Snape." Though even she looked skeptical.

Harry chuckled, mostly due to Ron's facial expression. "It _is_ a little difficult to picture, Snape and romance. And with Professor Hunter. I would expect he would hate spending time with someone like her, sunny and cheerful." He ate another forkful of eggs. "Maybe the rumors are just that, rumors. People make stuff up all the time. Look at what the _Daily Prophet_ wrote about me." Harry mulled over Snape's long-time love of Lily Evans, his mother, and what he did for that love. He found the notion of Severus Snape in love not so much difficult to believe, just unlikely. It would have to be someone truly remarkable. And the rumors suggested something rather sudden and impulsive, the opposite of Professor Snape.

Hermione looked thoughtful. "Well," she said. "Lavender heard it from Parvati, who said she saw Snape running back to the school from the forest in the middle of the night with Professor Hunter in his arms, and she supposedly looked like a love-struck movie heroine."

Ron nearly choked on his breakfast. "Nah, can't be. What would someone glamorous like Professor Hunter see in Snape? Besides, how come Parvati was the only one who saw this? No one else saw it but her. Trelawney convinced her she has the Second Sight. I'm not convinced she has First Sight at this point."

Hermione remained skeptical. "Well, she said she was up really late, writing up her Divination paper."

"See?" Ron retorted. "She was in a mind to make things up, suggestible. And it was late." Ron turned to Harry in amusement. "Maybe she had a dream about Snape herself. Maybe she's in love with the greasy git."

Harry replied. "Yeah, Ron. Maybe you can ask Lavender her opinion about it. She is an expert..." At this, Ron gave Harry a rude gesture and turned his attention to his eggs.

Ginny glanced sideways at the staff table. "You know, he does look a little different nowadays. Maybe it's less pressure, I don't know, but maybe not as unattractive as before…." She trailed off under the disbelieving stares of both Ron and Harry. Hermione glanced up to the staff table, and returned an equivocal look. A silent agreement seemed to have been reached that further conversation on this topic was done for the meal. The first class of the day was Advanced Potions, so they'd get a good chance to see their professor up close and in person soon.

Then the owls arrived, carrying the _Daily Prophet_ in their talons. Chaos erupted immediately.

"Wonder what all the fuss is about, " Hermione said, grabbing her edition and unrolling it on the table. Harry was forced to read it upside down, but the picture was clear enough.

"Son of a Bludger," choked Ron, staring slack-jawed over Hermione's shoulder, bits of toast falling from his mouth. "Just like Parvati said."

And so it was. The large photo on the front page was clearly the Headmaster, running towards the castle with Professor Hunter in his arms, as well as his sample case. The full moon lit the scene. He looked rugged and determined, his black cloak billowing behind him. She had her arms wrapped around his neck and a look of enthrallment on her face.

Hermione snorted, then blushed, smoothing out the paper. "It looks just like the cover of a romance novel. Except Snape's shirt and jacket are still on him."

"Looks like he can't get back to the castle fast enough. Read it," Ginny said urgently, ready for the story.

"All right, settle down," said Hermione quickly. "There must be an explanation."

Romance Blossoming at Hogwarts, Or Just Another Poison Pill? by Rita Skeeter

 _Questions of romance in the air are circling Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this morning after the late-night adventures of Headmaster Severus Snape and the new Potions Professor, Dr. Morgan Hunter. The Headmaster, rumored to be the heir to the Snape fortune and wealthy in his own right due to his previous "career" prior to taking the Potions Master position at Hogwarts, had most recently been cleared of his most serious war crime charges but remains on probation due to conviction on other minor charges. His ascent to the position of Headmaster of the school was temporarily derailed due to his war activities which have been extensively reported in these pages previously, as well as his death. Which was followed by his recovery, a phenomenon which has never been fully explained, leading to rumors of just how this occurred, by whose assistance, and for what reason._

 _Professor Snape was seen making a beeline back from the Forbidden Forest with newly-appointed Potions Mistress Morgan Hunter locked in his embrace. But who is this new American transplant? No one seems to know for sure. What is known is that she comes to Hogwarts from the Sedona School in Arizona (US), where she had gained international renown for her research and technique, based on both her publications and extensive speaking tours. But what made this successful Potioness decide, after so many years dedicated to the Sedona School, from which she graduated with High Honors in Potions, Transfiguration, and Spells and varsity runes in swimming, dueling, and broom squad, to transfer from the sun and desert, to Hogwarts, here in the wind-swept Highlands? Some close to her have noted that she claims a desire to understand the synergies between New World and Old World potion making (and it's clear some mixing of Old World and New World is going on!). Others have suggested still baser motivations._

 _One such theory is a desire to escape charges related to the untimely and suspicious death of her husband, Phillipus Alden, a little over a year ago. Alden, a pure-blood wizard with roots that stretch back to the Mayflower in the American colonies and earlier in Britain, was known to have a personal fortune amassed for at least 20 generations. A wizard of modest talent, employed as an astronomer and Divination chart writer, he was rumored to have felt overshadowed by his famous wife. Having no children during their 7-year marriage, the fortune is assumed to pass directly to her. While cleared of wrongdoing in a criminal trial kept closely under wraps, Dr. Hunter now finds herself embattled by the extended family of the unfortunate wizard, who are contesting his will in the civil courts of the US Council of Magical Persons._

 _What is to become of these star-crossed lovers? Will the famously icy Professor Snape warm to the Witch from the West? Will Dr. Hunter lose one fortune, but manage to gain another in short order? And what of the students of Hogwarts? What will they be learning from this example of indiscretion…_

"Incendio Prophet" rang through the Great Hall, as the Headmaster drew his wand, his spell spilling forth in a shower of crisp white sparks. The newspapers, some still tied to the later-arriving owls, were immediately in flames. Though not hot and not catching anything nearby on fire (such as feathers), the anxiety of the birds was readily apparent, spoiling breakfast for nearly everyone and causing many students to need to change robes before class. Not one student risked either a giggle or even a glimpse as Snape stormed from the hall, his robes billowing like storm clouds behind him, and the doors closing with a thunderous crash that shook the nearest torch from the wall. Professor Hunter, for her part, joined the rest of staff in wide-eyed silence, paired with a deep red blush, but grateful that her breakfast was still edible and there was nothing amiss on her blue robe, nor the matching hat.

After a few moments of stunned silence, Ron spoke. "I wonder if Advanced Potions will be cancelled. It's double today. If not, it's a sure thing we'll all get detentions."

Having not received any notification that Advanced Potions was cancelled that day, the students filed down to the dungeon after quickly changing into clean robes. They steeled themselves for the day's lesson, which was written on the blackboard as always. "Felix Felicis Minor" it read, followed by a complex and extensive ingredient list and instructions so detailed, they were written in tiny script and continued on a second board.

"Good grief," Hermione said. "This will probably take more than even the double class to do. Better get started."

Ron moaned. "We'll never finish, it's detention for sure, even you, Hermione."

Janiss Ames was at the next table. What were they all groaning about? This was a complex potion, but the instructions were clear enough. Just do what is says, no more, no less.

She leaned over to Ron. "Hey, Ron. Is that true, you get detention if you can't finish?"

"Yeah," said Ron, blushing slightly that the lovely new student was talking to him. She usually favored Neville more, to the aggravation of most of the upper year boys. "Been trapped with Snape probably a hundred times, as least. Harry here's even had to take Remedial Potions," he added, gesturing over his shoulder.

"Really?" Janiss said. "The Headmaster claimed there were no remedial classes offered here."

"There are if he wants to torture you," Ron said. Harry stood behind Ron, gesturing in contradiction.

Snape strode in, with no sign of the fury they'd seen only the hour before. He reached the front of the class and cleared the boards with a small swish of his wand. Hermione, who had already gathered about half the items and set up her equipment, let out a gasp, which she terminated under Snape's stare.

"Change in the lesson plan for today. In light of recent events, we will be making Amoreverselixir today. Who can tell me the purpose of this valuable concoction?" he asked, his tone perfectly controlled.

Hermione's hand was raised, but Snape continued to look around the room, his gaze at last resting on Janiss. She looked back at him, but made no sign of knowing the answer. Harry felt pity for her, knowing what it felt like to be asked difficult questions and coming up short.

Seeing no alternative, Snape turned to Hermione.

"Miss Granger, enlighten us."

"It works to either protect the user from love potions of various forms or as an antidote to them."

"Correct, as always." Snape next turned to Ron. "Mr. Weasley, please describe the effects of a love potion, if you recall it ... from your reading," he said with a smirk.

Ron became bright red at the rising giggles around him and replied "It isn't real love, but the feeling is strong. And the victim can't tell the difference, sir."

The giggles in the class were silenced as Snape returned to the front of the classroom, turned to the lecture board and illustrated his talk, showing them drawings of wizards and witches in various states of excessive, obsessive love. "Mr. Weasley is correct. As he knows from previous... lessons, love potions and other items do not produce real love, but only infatuation. To the victim, these effects can override good judgement and seem very real." He continued his stroll through the room. "Many an … unscrupulous … witch or wizard has taken advantage of that infatuation to sign contracts, execute marriages, and wreck existing marriages, among various other kinds of mischief."

Having reached the front of the classroom, he turned. "And with this potion, you will have the opportunity to both defend yourselves from such deplorable trickery, as well as to come to the aid of friends or colleagues who may find themselves unwittingly exposed," he said, each word carrying meaning as he uttered it.

"You have until the end of period to produce this." He waved his wand toward the blackboard and a new recipe and brewing illustration appeared. They got to work.

Janiss read the instructions. It was like a love potion, only made in reverse. Stirring counterclockwise, chilling rather than boiling, mixing rather than extracting. Fascinating. What if she also pressed the herbs, instead of grinding? Let's find out. Her concoction turned brown and pasty. It was supposed to be purple and swirly. It smelled terrible, like a rotting frog. It was supposed to be odorless and tasteless. Well, that didn't work. "Better start over," she thought. Good thing it was a relatively straightforward preparation. She would have plenty of time to try again, given that it was a double class. As she turned to dispose of her cauldron contents, she collided headlong into Professor Snape, who had been hovering behind her, observing the ill effects of her experiment.

"What is that smell?" he sneered, his nose curled back as the contents of her cauldron spilled on the floor, sizzling and smoking.

"I've done it wrong, sir," she said hastily. "I'll redo it."

"Indeed you will," the professor said coldly. "In detention. This evening at eight." She choked in protest. "Sharp."

"Yes, sir," she said, and began to clean up her things, retaining a sample of the paste. She pretended not to hear when Dean Thomas said "She's supposed to be a potions whiz," nor to notice when Cho punched him.

The rest of the class continued to concoct the potion, stirring, swirling, mixing. Snape continued to stalk the lab, pacing. As the other students turned in their vials, he noted " I will be testing the potency of this by the end of term, after each of you has been given a love potion. I expect it will be an interesting class."

Harry managed to suppress his guffaws at the expression of horror on Ron's face.


	15. Chapter 15: The Rest of the Day After

**Good day, kind readers. This chapter took a long time to write. Things are getting more complicated for our friends at Hogwarts, but it took me some time to get the perspective right. Inspiration doesn't always occur concurrently with the time needed to execute it! Let me know if I got it right, or not. I'm enjoying drawing out more about these characters and finding that they sometimes surprise me.**

 **And special thanks to those who have offered reviews and joined as followers/favoriters. I've been pleased to see so much interest as we go along and it keeps me going. Please do your part and offer your feedback. It is sustenance itself to new writers like myself.**

 **Enjoy this chapter! DN**

The Headmaster had departed quickly at the end of class, following the students out and hastily casting a couple of charms on the locks. Rather than joining them in the Great Hall for lunch, he strode purposefully in the direction of his office.

Lunch was uneventful, with much of the chatter subdued, but mostly reporting from the upper year students on the morning Potions class (focused mainly on the selection of potion for the day). Speculation was rampant. Who pursued who? Did Snape have to give her a love Potion? Did she slip one to Snape? The former seemed more likely than the latter, but speculation abounded.

Hunter was pleased to return to her classroom after lunch. She'd spent most of the morning pacing her office, horrified by the small part of the newspaper article she was able to read before they were all destroyed. What interest would anyone else have about this unfortunate incident, front page interest at that? Weren't there bigger fish to fry in the Magical community? And where did the photo come from? The evening before had been mortifying enough to her as it was, when it was known only to her, Snape, and Poppy. This public knowledge, and among the students no less, greatly compounded her embarrassment. Clearly, it had not gone over well with Professor Snape, either. And all before the start of October. She decided to turn her attention to teaching for now, and deal with Snape later, perhaps after class.

The students filed in with more than the usual low chatter, mouths behind hands and blushing when she made eye contact, as expected. She did not acknowledge the incident nor their gossiping. Instead, she got started with the lecture of the day and the required Potion.

"Today's potion is a simple wit-sharpening potion, which requires only 3 ingredients and 7 steps to prepare. The instructions are on the board, as well as in your books. I advise that you take special care in preparation. If you are successful, I'll allow you to use the potion during winter finals week." A twitter of interest rose from the class. "I've brought an especially potent batch of armadillo bile with me, so please do use care, as it can be caustic. Dragon-hide gloves are required. The resultant potion should be as useful as Baruffio's Brain Elixir, without the need for restricted ingredients nor detoxification afterwards."

"That's why she's the best teacher," said a tall boy in a Ravenclaw robe, in an admiring tone.

Hearing those kind words, and seeing a few nods of agreement would have gone a long way to calm Hunter's mind, except for hearing a reply of "You and Snape seem to share that opinion," followed by a murmur of appreciation.

She glared at where the voice came from but couldn't identify the source. She briefly considered detention for the entire class, but was able to breathe through the impulse. She finished the lecture on the contribution each ingredient made and the reasons for each of the particular preparation steps, then strolled through the room to observe their work.

Before anyone had gotten very far, there was a knock on the classroom door and a small house-elf in the robes of Hufflepuff House, entered, with a look of excruciating embarrassment on his face.

"Professor Hunter," he stammered, looking at the floor. "You are requested in the Headmaster's office at once."

Hunter gave the house-elf a confused smile. "Let him know I'll be there directly after this class," she said gently, knowing that the elf was only doing his job. She was surprised at the request, as the Headmaster should know her teaching schedule well. She turned back to assist the students.

The house-elf cleared his throat uncomfortably and squeaked out. "I'm so sorry, Madam, but you really must come now, without delay." Hunter turned sharply and stared, as the house-elf turned an unhealthy shade of florid red.

What the devil was he on about? Yes, the article in the Daily Prophet was embarrassing, but hardly worth interrupting her class. Clearly, he didn't respect her teaching responsibilities, if he thought she was to just leave her class at his whim. She'd never been summoned in such a way in her life.

She turned to her class, those close by and overhearing having stopped their preparations. She took a deep breath. There weren't any especially dangerous components, other than the armadillo bile, nor did the brewing involve high pressure or complex extractions. The students weren't at risk. Well, not much. But if things did go wrong, the mess might be significant. Perhaps she'd engage him in helping clean up, if he expected her to suddenly leave a laboratory full of 4th years to their work.

"Everyone, I need to leave class. You are on your own. I hope that the benefit of this potion to your final exam scores will motivate you to be careful. I expect everyone to remain on their best behavior and to clean up at the end of class. Please leave your samples on my desk, as usual." She waved her wand, placing an identity charm on each of their sample vials, so she'd know if anyone tried to pass off someone else's work as their own. Not foolproof, but helpful, and the best she could do in the time available to her.

"He can't keep away from her, I guess," was muttered as she strode out.

As she climbed the stairs up from the dungeons to Snape's office, she cursed him silently under her breath with each step. How dare he summon her, like a dog? Such utter disrespect, and for a person with her standing! She would need to set him straight about her expectations if she was to get through this year without hexing him. With each step, she seethed. Rather than taking the time to count to ten and bring her mood back down, she became more inflamed with every pace. He was abusing his rank over her. Disrespectful. Unprofessional. How could she possibly have felt some kind of affection for him? Maybe it really was the bluebells, because she certainly wasn't feeling kindly toward him now. To call her out in front of her students! How dare he! Send a house-elf instead of coming himself. Of all the nerve.

The elf (and she hadn't bothered to ask his name) uttered a password which she was far too riled up to hear at the door, which slid open. She walked in purposefully and mounted the stairs, walking up rather than waiting for them to take her upwards.

"What is this about, Snape? I was in the middle of class!" she spit out, entering the room and turning on him, leaning over the desk with determination in her stance as well as words.

Snape rose and met her eyes with caution. "Professor Hunter, thank you for joining us on such short notice," he said with the utmost control to his voice.

Us, what did he mean, us? Was this a royal us?

She turned and now noted the others in the room who were sitting opposite the desk. Madam Pomfrey and Mr. Filch, and two others that she did not know. Oh dear. Her anger was being replaced by dread, accompanied by a drop in blood pressure that left her feeling weak-kneed.

Snape gestured to the tall, strapping sandy-haired wizard of about 35 with the presence of a once-formidable athlete, who then stood. "May I introduce Paracelsus Winder, Minister of Magical Education." He smiled broadly and extended a hand to Hunter, who returned the gesture with nervous hesitation. "Call me Parse, everyone does." Hunter was quite sure her calling him Parse would be a long time coming.

"And his deputy, Hypatia Alexander." Also tall and powerfully built, the olive-skinned witch extended a hand in greeting. Her grip was needlessly strong.

Winder spoke first. "So the rumors are true, Snape," he said jovially, eyeing Hunter as though she were some kind of prize. Her anger rose again, edging out the dread. How dare he make jokes about her? They'd only just met! "You've managed to hire the great Morgan Hunter. What a coup!" Her feelings were in a jumble, much like her stomach. She was now wishing she'd opted to skip lunch, as Snape apparently had.

Snape looked grim, as Winder continued, turning back to Snape. "Madame Maxime must be in a jealous rage that you snagged her, old man!" He turned back to Hunter and said in a conspiratorial tone. "Beauxbaton's potions program has been weak for decades. Their professor still uses the same text book from 1828, just because it's in French," he snorted derisively.

Hunter was taken aback by his insulting tone. "I think they may be looking to update their courses. They've asked me to speak later this year." Snape eyed her with raised eyebrows.

Winder only laughed at this. "I bet they have. I hope you'll carve out some time in your busy schedule to visit us at the Ministry of Magic, as well, Dr. Hunter. Someone with your expertise would be an excellent advisor on curriculum." He turned to his deputy. "Hypatia, work with Dr. Hunter after this meeting and get a lecture set up." Alexander looked nonplussed at this barked request, but nodded her agreement without enthusiasm. He turned back to Hunter and continued. "We'll put you up in the Three Cauldrons Inn on Diagon Alley, first class all the way. I'll see if I can arrange some time with Kingsley Shacklebolt, currently acting Minister of Magic. Great guy, Shacklebolt." Hunter didn't like the hand he'd placed on her arm, though he withdrew it quickly enough at her stiffening.

"Enough of this chatter," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Let's address the real reason we are here, so we can let the good professor return to her class. Wouldn't want to deprive the students of your top-notch teaching." Hunter allowed her gaze to drift slightly from Winder to Snape, who looked as stony as ever. He lazily waved his wand, and a sturdy chair with blue cushions appeared for her use. Midnight blue, in precisely the same shade as her robe. Everyone sat down as Winder got started again.

"May we discuss the events of last evening, Dr. Hunter?" he said as though they were just having a nice conversation at a garden party. "How did you come to be in the forest with the Headmaster? Were you coerced in some way?"

Hunter looked at him in disbelief. "What is the purpose of this inquiry, Minister Winder? Surely the Minister of Magical Education doesn't get involved in such trivial matters as accidental exposures to magical plants? If so, you'll need to investigate half my class by the end of the year, sir."

Winder gave her what was probably intended to be an indulgent smile as Hypatia Alexander looked away. "The Department of Magical Education takes the possibility of unlawful intoxication of a staff member with magical plants very seriously." Winder paused here and returned his gaze to Snape, the smile disappearing. "Although this is merely an informal investigation, for someone already on probation, the consequences could be very serious, should the investigation reveal wrongdoing." He turned back to Hunter after a pause. "Under what pretense did Professor Snape lure you to the forest?"

"No one was 'lured,' as you put it, Minister. The research that the Headmaster and I designed used up a great deal of materials. We chose to visit the forest that night to gather more supplies at their greatest potency."

Winder nodded. "I see. Once you were in the forest, how did Professor Snape manage to guide you to the patch of bluebells?"

Now Hunter was getting exasperated by the tone of the questions. "No one guided me there. I happened upon them myself. Professor Snape wasn't even near me at the time," she huffed.

Winder narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "But once he noted your position, he took advantage of the situation and forced himself upon you?"

"He most certainly did not! If you must know every tiny little detail, I forced myself upon him, fairly attacking him. Once I had him pinned to the ground, he noticed the bluebells and asked me if I'd ever seen them before. Upon discovering that I had not, he immediately saved me any further embarrassment by carting me straight back to the castle and calling for Madam Pomfrey, who them administered a reversal potion. There was absolutely nothing shady about his behavior at any time. You should be ashamed of yourselves and this wizard-hunt." She glared at the two of them, her arms crossed.

Winder and Alexander sat back with eyebrows raised at her forceful and specific response. Snape merely smirked silently.

Winder turned to Filch and Pomfrey. "And what did you witness, Mr. Filch, Madam Pomfrey?"

Poppy spoke. "I was awoken in the middle of the night by Mr. Filch who insisted that the Headmaster needed me immediately to care for Dr. Hunter, as she'd fallen ill. Upon arriving in the Entrance Hall, I found her suffering the classic symptoms of an adult first bluebell exposure. Once in the infirmary, she initially refused treatment (absolutely typical for an exposure of this type), but Professor Snape finally convinced her. After treatment with Amoreverselixir, she returned to normal and was released. I saw nothing inappropriate, nothing at all," she replied primly.

Mr. Filch nodded in agreement. "I wasn't too keen to go waking up Madam Pomfrey in the middle of the night (she has a real temper when she's tired), but Professor Snape was fixed on me getting Poppy up. So I hurried off to get her. Professor Hunter was clearly affected by them bluebells, but Snape was having none of it."

Winder looked at Alexander, who returned his look equivocally. "Well, then, Professor Snape, it would seem your story holds up with these other witnesses. I don't doubt you've had time to get your stories straight and I note that all of the witnesses report to you as the Headmaster, but I will have to close this investigation." He stood and readied to leave, Alexander following suit. His frustrated demeanor disappeared as he turned back to Hunter, replaced with a rather plasticine smile that never reached his eyes. He grasped her hand in both of his in a way that felt far too familiar, particularly from one who had finished only moments ago interrogating her about personal matters. "Dr. Hunter, I would be most honored to host you personally for your lecture at the Ministry. I can't wait to hear what new perspectives you might bring. Hypatia will be in touch to set it up. Well, good day to you all." And with a slight nod, he and his deputy exited.

Madam Pomfrey and Filch looked at Snape, who remained silent until the unmistakable sounds of the house elves escorting their Ministry guests out had subsided. He said a low "Thank you for coming. Dr. Hunter, if you'd like to return to you class, please do so, with my apologies for this unscheduled interruption. Mr. Filch, Madam Pomfrey, thank you for your testimony."

Poppy and Filch stood to go. "We only spoke the truth, Severus. Only the truth." Snape nodded silently as they, too, exited, leaving Hunter and Snape alone for the first time since the evening before. Hunter noted the time and that there was no need to dash off down to her classroom. Had there been an accident, she'd have known by now. She sat, allowing the silence to gather and settle.

Snape spoke first. "Dr. Hunter, my apologies for this embarrassing mess. I had hoped that the Minister would not choose to involve himself in the matter, but it would seem that no matter is too small for his attention."

"Is it normal for your Ministry of Magical Education to get involved in such a minor affair...I mean, event? And the newspaper. Do they typically report every mishap brought on by Magical substances?" She held him in the steady, forthright gaze that he had yet to adjust to. He generally did not appreciate being the object of observation. And most of the staff and students avoided making direct eye contact so as not to fall afoul of his temper. Gaining his attention typically did not gain one favors. Quite the opposite.

He inhaled and exhaled before speaking. "Let's continue this conversation while we store the harvest. It would be a shame to ruin such things that have cost us so dearly."

Once in the dungeon research laboratory, Snape applied a sealing charm to the door, and Hunter applied the Muffliato charm. They opened the case and began pulling from it the jars and packets collected the night before. Even in the dimness of the torches, Hunter could see the quality of the take. Her ran her fingers over the leaves of plants, feeling their stored energy. The insects, now dead, still vibrated with potential. The wood samples nearly hummed with readiness to be ground up, extracted, shaved, or charred. It was one of the most propitious harvests she'd ever enjoyed. All, or at least nearly all, of her previous worries and aggravations faded as she handled the items, placing them in labeled jars and flasks, ready for use in their ongoing research. It would be a good year after all, she allowed herself to think.

As they processed the substances, Snape answered the question she'd asked upstairs. "No, it is not at all typical. The purpose of this visit, as unpleasant as it was, was not to investigate the facts of the newspaper story. Unless someone lodges a complaint about such an event and makes a formal accusation, such things are left alone to the discretion of the individuals involved, even among work colleagues. Even if a complaint is filed, it is generally addressed by lower level agents of the Ministry and a proscribed punishment meted out. No, the purpose of this was to serve a notice to me that I am being observed carefully and that my position is precarious."

Hunter understood such maneuverings well, but opted not to say so, lest she be called upon to explain how well she knew of such machinations. She began with an "I see," but then quickly turned her attention to the materials at hand, launching into another monologue on how these would fit into their upcoming experiments. Snape seemed to appreciate the distraction, as well, and they spent the remainder of the afternoon working. When they emerged together for dinner, neither of them cared, though both of them noticed, the murmurs from students and glances from staff. The matter was behind them, the work lay ahead.

That evening, he'd hosted detention with Janiss Ames, who'd made a perfect batch of Amoreverelixir on her first attempt. He treated her to as long a lecture as he could muster on the particulars of each ingredient, the relevance of the cauldron size and composition, as well as the details of the technique. He detailed precisely what she'd done wrong in the morning and noted that grinding was different from pressing and implied that her prior schooling was wanting if she didn't already know that. She continued in silence except for the occasional "yes, sir," now following the instructions precisely, yielding the intended potion. He escorted her to the Ravenclaw wing still in silence, then, retired to his rooms. He cursed Parse Winder silently yet again, that overblown fool. He imagined Hunter had spent the evening cleaning up after a laboratory full of 4th years had brewed on their own. It must have been a disaster. Had he not had a prior obligation in having Miss Ames re-make her potion assignment, he would have been delighted to volunteer her for clean-up duty with Hunter. As it was, by the time she was finished, he had walked past her lab to see if she needed further assistance, but found the door securely locked and no sound of activity behind it.

In the silence of his own rooms, his door firmly sealed, the only sound that of sputtering candles, he found himself disappointed that she hadn't been working in the lab, not because he wanted an additional punishment for the American student (at least not entirely), but because he simply had hoped to see her again before the day ended. Putting out the last of the candles, he drifted off to sleep, reminding himself that it was all bluebells, but reliving the moment she "fairly attacked him."

Hunter sat in her comfortable armchair, winding down the difficult day (had it only been one day?) with a glass of wine, a California red from her own stock, and book about vessel shapes. She found the mathematical charts explaining the shape relative to the concentrations of evaporations a bit much for a mind with as little sleep as she'd had lately. Putting the thick, complex book aside and climbing into bed early, only a little after 8:30pm, she fell asleep quickly, telling herself that it would be easy enough to put this behind her, and focus instead on teaching, lecturing, and research. Just a little hiccup that would soon become just a funny anecdote to share with friends over a drink.


	16. Chapter 16: Legilimency

**Good evening, readers. Here's an extra-long chapter. Let me know if you think it should be two. I considered that, but thought I'd give you the gift of more to read.**

 **If you have been following along, please note some major changes once I realized I skipped uploading a couple of important chapters. Consider re-reading, starting with Chapter 10 (Collaboration).**

 **As noted in a couple of notes in the new chapters, I am delighted to share that I am between jobs and planning to write and upload a few chapters in the next couple of weeks. I am enjoying have you along for the ride. Let me know what you think!**

 **DN**

Harry, Ron and Hermione stopped outside the 5th-floor classroom door along with the other Gryffindor and Ravenclaw "8th-years."

"I wonder what we'll cover today?" wondered Cho aloud.

"The syllabus says "Blocking," whatever that means," said Parvati.

"It means keeping someone from getting into your mind," said Harry. "It's different from Occlumency, which is hiding thoughts but keeping your mind open. Blocking is just basically kicking out the bloke who's trying to get in."

"Wow," said Hermione, admiringly. "You really sound like you know what you're doing in this class."

"Try not to sound so surprised," Harry said with a laugh. "Snape tried to teach me some in my 6th year, but it didn't go well."

"That's Professor Snape to you," said a familiar deep voice, and Harry felt the expected whack of a rolled up parchment across his head. "And you are unduly modest." Snape turned to those assembled, who were stunned by a piece of praise coming from the stern professor's mouth. "Harry showed considerable … potential," he said, then turned to face Harry directly with a piercing glare. "What he lacked was control. We shall attempt to remedy that. Let's begin."

The students crowded their way inside the classroom, fighting to be as close to the front as possible. Harry paired with Neville, Ron with Dean, and Hermione with Padma.

"Now, today, you will begin to learn how to block others from entering your minds. The past few lessons have been, no doubt, rather revealing to one another, as I'm sure several of you showed things about yourselves that you'd rather not be known, and others of you discovered things about your classmates you wish you hadn't known. Those are the risks one takes in this sort of Magic, knowing more than you care to, revealing more than you mean to." Harry thought about his work with Neville. He had tried to be gentle about getting inside his head. It was very interesting. Far from the anxious, awkward boy Harry had known since first year, Neville on the inside was now fearless and driven. More so than many of the others, he had seen a lot of hardship in his lifetime, and had risen to the challenges of the war like few others. He had even stood up to the Carrows. He had shown Harry some of his thoughts about Snape, mostly because he thought Harry would enjoy them, but they were conflicted. He had grown out of his abject fear of Snape such that a boggart would no longer take his shape for Neville. Like the rest of the older students, he now understood that Snape had been on Dumbledore's side, but still felt pain when he considered the previous year when Snape was Headmaster, but under the guise of a Dark Wizard.

Harry had tried to show Neville some of his thoughts about the previous year, as well, but that year was mostly boring, with a great deal of waiting and fruitless searching. He wanted Neville to know that he, Ron, and Hermione had been trying as hard as they could to defeat Voldemort, but that it wasn't easy, or inevitable. Mostly, he wanted Neville to know how important his leading the remaining Hogwarts students had been. At the end of that class, they were both exhausted, and surprised by one another.

Now they had to try blocking. Harry hadn't been good at this. It was somewhat difficult to try anything in a class full of other people and their minds, but as the pairs settled down and began to work, there were fewer and fewer distractions.

Harry felt the now-familiar mental ripple of someone entering his thoughts. Those not trained in Occlumency might just dismiss the sensation as a sudden snapping-to or shudder, but now he recognized it for what it was, his brain being stimulated by another consciousness. First, he simply thought about things he was willing to let Neville see. Quidditch practice, research in the library, a Hogsmeade day. Then he tried to imagine a wall, or a door closing, or a window shade snapping shut. But it only served to provide a different image. Neville persisted, moving around the wall, pushing aside the curtain, opening the door. Now Neville could also see Harry getting a little aggravated.

After a time, Neville said "Let's take a break and go the other way. I'll try to block you." Harry agreed readily, feeling relieved by his kind friend's gesture.

Now Harry was wandering in Neville's mind. Neville was thinking about taking an autumn walk with … Harry couldn't see who. Now he was thinking of Herbology and what college he wanted to go to and who he might meet there and…. Harry was now steered to Neville thinking about carrying the Sword of Gryffindor and how natural the weapon felt when he had last picked it up. And now he was thinking of his last visit to see his parents at St. Mungo's, with Gran there telling the stories. He could feel Neville's emotions rising, pride on the one hand, but also great sadness. Then, pop, Harry was looking at a black curtain. It wasn't a figurative black curtain and he couldn't get around it. He was out. Nothing.

"Did I do it, Harry? Are you out?" Neville asked.

Harry looked at Neville in admiration. "Yeah, you booted me right out. How did you do it?"

"It was kind of weird. I tried a few times, but it didn't seem to work. I needed to be really motivated, to really want you out of there. I tried to think of things that I didn't want to think about myself, then kind of squeeze? It's hard to explain. Let's have you try again."

Harry considered what to think about, but Neville was already there, picking about, which irritated Harry a bit. Couldn't he give him a moment to get ready? "No," came the answer. "You won't have that option in a real fight."

"True," Harry mentally replied. He thought about Moaning Myrtle, the Golden Egg and the bathtub (Neville snickered). Not embarrassing enough. He thought about seeing his parents in the Mirror of Erised. Not embarrassing, particularly to someone who's parents were in a kind of half-death. He thought about kissing Ginny, then tried hard to push out Neville. Neville chuckled. Without meaning to, Harry's thoughts turned to the future, as they often did when he thought much about Ginny. His outlook was bleak, despite his affection for her. He expected a dull career, a predictable and peaceful life, without challenges and need to call upon bravery or courage to survive. He was pulled suddenly back, remembering that he was supposed to be trying to block out Neville, angry with himself for showing his hollow vision. He pushed against Neville's intrusion, but the other man persisted. Harry pushed harder, then finally he successfully blocked him. Neville stepped back with a look of concern.

Harry looked away, ashamed. Neville said quietly, "It's alright, Harry. A lot of us feel like that sometimes."

Harry gave a weak smile of acknowledgement.

"I guess that was enough to motivate me to kick you out. You're a persistent fellow."

"It's one of my better qualities," said Neville, now grinning. "That and my dancing. You're taking Ginny to the Halloween Ball, I guess?"

"Yeah, I probably should officially ask her soon. What about you? Who's the lucky lady? Janiss?"

"I asked, but she's already going with Seamus. He asked her two weeks ago, right after Flitwick announced the Ball, just to spite me. I'm thinking of asking Cho." he said in a whisper, looking across the room where she was deep in concentration with Parvati. "I hope you don't mind, Harry," he said conspiratorily.

Harry was impressed with his bravery to ask out both Janiss, who was becoming quite popular with the witches and wizards alike, and Cho, who had been well-liked for her entire time at Hogwarts. "Why would I mind?" he asked, puzzled.

"Everyone knows you used to like one another." Harry gaped. "It was the worst-kept secret that year, that and what a clod you were to Parvati."

"I don't mind a bit, and I can't think of any two people better suited to one another. There's only three weeks left before the ball. Take my advice, ask her now, before she gets asked by someone better-looking than you." Neville punched Harry in the ribs, and Harry took the punch.

"And I'll try to do some damage control for you. Parvati probably already showed her what a clod you were at the Yule Ball for one of her worst moments." Harry glowered and returned the punch.

Snape sat a few seats down from Hunter at dinner that Friday night. He was feeling smug. His new Legilimency class was going well. A few students had made an effort to dig into his mind, which he firmly rebuffed with a mental kick in the pants, followed by a glare and a reminder to keep their partner as their target. Perhaps next time he would give them an interesting scenario for their trouble, an image of themselves at the end of a day-long detention spent in his potions classroom during a Hogsmeade weekend, still sorting vials by size or cleaning out the reptile preparation area after a successful harvest. A smile passed over his face.

The research was going well. He found it difficult to repress a grin recalling how scandalized Dr. Hunter was when she discovered that the students she thought were volunteers were, in fact, in detention. He considered giving Miss Brown an extra detention for her revelation of this fact, even though she had no way of knowing that he'd never felt compelled to correct Hunter's amusing misunderstanding.

Hunter made a compelling argument that volunteers would be more dedicated to the task of learning and more likely to perform at a higher level than those there against their wills. He'd countered with the fact that, while this was theoretically true, it was not likely that a sufficient number of students would volunteer their time to spend MORE time with him, thus slowing their research. He had assumed that his appeal to the efficiency of executing the research would be enough to dissuade her from further argument. He was displeased when she replied that they might want to spend more time with HER, especially because that was a real possibility. Harry had been present at the time, spending his apprenticeship hours getting items ready for the next day's Advanced Potions class. Suppressing an appreciative laugh for the rare witch whose wit was a match for the Headmaster's, he suggested that some students might want to volunteer, that the older students in particular regarded him with respect for the complexity of the position he'd been in. Snape silently regarded this as unlikely, but called for volunteers during his next classes to demonstrate the futility of the approach.

A surprising number of students volunteered. Hunter had been very obviously making efforts to hide her smugness at this, to his consternation. But the research had continued, with good results from the better students. He hadn't given a detention in nearly two weeks. Perhaps next week.

His mind turned to Hunter. Since the...incident…. in the forest, he had attempted to put the matter behind him, given that it was driven by the unfortunate bluebells. But the images persisted and he played the event over in his mind more than once, careful not to allow himself these thoughts in Legilimancy class, nor when the 8th year students were nearby, as they continued to make a sport of pitiful attempts to violate his mind when the chance arose in the corridors. But when he was alone, in his office or private quarters, he allowed his thoughts to stray. He was under considerably less pressure now to maintain his Occlumency since the final fall of the Dark Lord, and had more freedom and relaxation than he could ever remember having. He had no idea what people did with this kind of time. He spent most of it reading and writing up research notes, and school business, of which there seemed to be a bottomless pit. The time between getting in bed and falling asleep seemed to be lengthening, and his thoughts would freely wander back to Hunter, when nothing otherwise distracted or occupied them.

He also thought about his future and the little mermaid girl. He needed to see if Trelawney had an update. He was sure she would tell him if she had a spontaneous vision, but perhaps she needed motivation to have another look. Perhaps this weekend, while students would be away at Hogsmeade, at least the older ones.

That decided, he turned his mind again to Hunter. He was convinced that the bluebells were the cause, for what else was possible? But she had insisted otherwise afterward. Her presence had awoken in him feelings that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in many years, her sharp mind a stimulus to his own. In a situation unprecedented by any previous objects of his affections, it appeared possible that she might feel similarly. Of the many skills he had honed over the years, these he had had no opportunity to practice.

Certainly, in his time as a Death Eater, he had developed relationships, but those were mostly based on efforts to form alliances, strategy, or just plain blackmail and abuse. Commitment and mutual regard never entered the picture; it wasn't their style. It sickened him, but his devotion to the life of a Death Eater had needed to be complete. Those skills were hardly the ones he would need if he were to pursue Dr. Hunter. But those bluebells, blast them. How was he to know for sure? Before he was to take any further steps, he needed to know her true feelings, without any possible contamination.

The weekend of her lecture at Beauxbatons had dredged up a rash of loneliness he had hoped to put aside. He found himself feeling like a schoolboy again, in the worst way, deserted and alone. And now without a gang of other like-minded Slytherins to help stir up some distracting entertainment, inventing new curses or practicing dueling. It was only for two days, she would return Sunday, but it couldn't be soon enough. He'd found himself unable to work productively, his time spent in the lab a waste. The few chapters of "New Techniques in Curse Casting" that he'd tried to read washed through his brain without sticking. Tossing the book roughly aside, he rose and strode the corridors. He considered meeting her at the gates, but felt it too forward. She would want time to unpack and relax. He'd give her two hours, he told himself, but once a single hour was up, he'd talked himself into requesting her in his office to provide a report on the state of Potions education the French school. Like the techniques of curse casting, little of the information stuck, but he enjoyed the rhythm of her speech. Her habit of stream-of-conscious monologues suited his mood and he allowed her to continue without interruption until his own mood had recovered.

He weighed his options in uncovering her true feelings. Veritaserum, taken voluntarily, of course, would be unpalatable, as she would be unlikely to place herself in such a vulnerable position (unless she trusted him greatly, which seemed unlikely). Trelawney might do a reading which could be revealing, but he had little faith in her skills on a day-to-day basis. He could ask the other female members of the staff if she'd said anything (insultingly creepy). He could ask a house-elf if she had said anything (absurdly intrusive).

But one additional option presented itself. It was intrusive, as well. But he was very skilled. He really did need to know, after all. He could fend off one of the most powerful wizards ever known, surely this little witch wouldn't be a problem. She was mostly an open book, chattering on as she often did.

Snape slowly chewed his dinner and bit by bit, as slowly and as softly as he could, began to enter Hunter's mind. He remained mentally still, making no waves, no disturbances, just an innocent bystander, not pushing to explore, just allowing the stream of her thoughts to trickle by him, there in the shadows. He attempted no questions, barely breathing, only chewing in a slow rhythm.

Bit by bit, the fog slowly cleared. She was in the lab, looking over the plans, considering the next round of experiments. Looking at ingredient lists, checking the stores, identifying what replenishment needed to be done. She was thinking of her speaking engagements and when she would be away, which left her feeling a little empty. He recognized the feeling too well.

There was a knock on the door. Her heart gave a leap. Who was it that she was so eager to see, he wondered. She rose and threw open the door. There was a tall, dark-haired man there, with pale skin and dark clothing. She took his hand and drew him into the room. Taking his other hand in hers, she breathed "Severus, I knew you'd come. I've been waiting for so long."

Snape stopped chewing, stopped breathing. This was dangerous territory, but to exit now, without being very delicate, would give his position away. He began to back away, a little at a time.

Hunter put her arms around the man's neck and he surrounded her with his embrace, but their height difference made it difficult. She pushed him down into a nearby chair, then proceeded to sit in his lap, her hands exploring his hair, his hands around her waist, pulling her closer.

Snape continued to try to slowly remove himself, but with each additional shift in her thoughts and emotions, he found himself more and more vulnerable to making a mistake and less and less able to remain detached and still.

She leaned into the man's neck and felt his warmth. "Severus," she said, her breath in his ear, her lips almost touching his cheek. "I can't get you off my mind."

The man gave a murmur of assent and turned his face towards hers, nearly touching. She grasped both his cheeks in her hands, looked deeply into his eyes, and said "But I can get you out of it."

The scene snapped shut with such force that Snape was temporarily blinded by a powerful migraine. Dropping his fork noisily, which only added to the pain, he grabbed his forehead, wincing. By the time he could see again, he didn't bother to notice that half the students and most of the staff were staring at him with concern. He only noticed that Hunter had already left. He continued to hold his head in his hands, but now for a reason other than physical pain. He breathed a few breaths to regain his composure, muttered something about an ice cream headache to those nearby, and withdrew to his private quarters.

Merlin's beard, he was in real trouble now. He paced his small room, hands clenching and unclenching as his thoughts raced. Where to begin? The question of when to begin was obvious, as soon as possible, but what to say? What arrogance he'd had, almost Potter-like, to assume she wouldn't notice. Clearly she was a witch of some skill. Had he really assumed her only skills lay in potion-making? He had underestimated her several times before, which was clearly a habit he needed to break. Though it was likely that he would few options in the future to estimate anything. It was certain she would avoid him now (deservedly so). He tried to imagine what he would say if someone else on the staff had attempted such a thing on a professional colleague. Would he fire them? A note in a file, at the very least, and probably some kind of censure. He hoped she wouldn't make a scene, but he would be hard-pressed to suggest that she be more professional, given his lack thereof.

And what would his response be to a colleague who tried to invade? General disgust and anger, lingering distrust.

Having only thought about what to say partway through, he strode off towards Hunter's rooms. Halfway there, in mid-stride, he stopped. He had no right, none at all. He had invaded her private space already tonight, in an egregious fashion, and it seemed it would be poorly advised to pursue her further. Regardless of his own need to explain himself and beg for forgiveness, he needed to show respect and avoid further invasion. He turned on his heel and headed back to his rooms again, silently cursing himself with every footstep.

After a fitful night's sleep spent both rehashing his foolishness and pondering what he ought to do next, Snape strode into the Great Hall early, attempting to be oblivious to the glances and mutterings of concern that followed him to the staff table. Hunter never appeared. He stayed as late as was reasonable, taking time over his eggs, reading more of the _Daily Prophet_ than anyone would want to. After breakfast, the upper year students were dismissed into Hogsmeade to get up to who knows what kind of trouble. Snape paced the corridors, went down to the potions lab in the dungeons, then back up to the astronomy tower, passing through as many different floors and hallways as possible. His shoes nearly worn through from pacing the length of the castle, he finally caught sight of her out a window, talking with Professor Sprout outside one of the greenhouses. He descended the stairs in a barely controlled fall and strode over purposefully as they continued to talk.

"If I could get some additional mandrake by Monday afternoon, that would be very helpful. We'll be starting a series of Courage Extract soon."

Sprout was nodding and starting to speak when Snape came into view. They both stopped their conversation. "Good day, Headmaster. Must start on this mandrake." Sprout vanished into the greenhouse like she was Disapparating.

"Good morning, Dr. Hunter. May I have a word, if you have a free moment?" He spoke as gently and with as much control as possible, given the urgency of his wish to speak with her.

"Of course, Headmaster," she said, with exaggerated deference. "In your office?"

"If possible, I'd rather we walked while we talked," he said. "It's a lovely day and I need to get a few things from the forest."

"To the far side of the lake, I assume?" she said sardonically.

"Yes, the farther the better," he agreed with a grimace.

"No doubt," she murmured under her breath, but loudly enough. They walked down the slope behind the greenhouse and followed the path that led away from the castle and out to the far side of the lake. Snape didn't even notice the gillyweed in verdant bloom around the rocks, nor note the poison frogs that would have been an easy (and useful) catch. They continued in silence until they had walked nearly half an hour. The air, at first cold from the morning, began to warm as the sun rose over the mountains.

Once out of sight of the castle, Snape stopped and allowed Hunter to stop as well. She regarded him now with a loathing she resisted in view of the school or grounds.

"Morgan," Snape began. She growled. "Professor Hunter." He hesitated and took in a breath. "I wanted to apologize for my behaviour yesterday evening. I was completely out of line and I beg your forgiveness."

"What in the heck were you doing, creeping around and spying on me?" Her words stung like armadillo bile. "What purpose could you possibly have had? Don't even answer that question, because there isn't really an answer that would make any sense. Only know this." Had she had her wand in her hand instead of only her finger, he had no doubt he would have been hexed back to London, perhaps across the Channel. "If you ever try anything as underhanded as that on me again, I will depart on the next train and report you to the Ministry, or worse, give an interview to the _Daily Prophet_."

The force of her words hit Snape like the train she would leave on, and he had no doubt that this was true. He could argue the point about her agreement with the school but it seemed like an inopportune moment to bring up contractual points. He needed another approach.

"I beg you not to go, Morgan. Dr. Hunter. Not for myself, but for the students who clearly value your teaching."

At this, she snorted. His appeal to the needs of her students had fallen flat.

"Ok, yes, for myself. I beg you on my own behalf. I behaved inexcusably, but I hope not unforgivably. I felt I had to know, Morgan, to know…." He trailed off, his words hanging in the still autumn air.

"To know what?" The force of her words was equivalent to Blasting Hexes.

"If your feelings were real or just from the bluebells."

"And you thought your need, no, desire, to know exceeded my right to privacy, my dignity. You thought you'd just go wandering through my brain, because surely if my feelings were real, I should be mooning over your pathetic skinny rear at every moment of the night and day?" She turned away, holding her hand to her head at though she had the migraine now.

Yes, those were the assumptions he'd made. When said like that it seemed absurd, but that was his prior experience with love himself.

"I'm sorry, Morgan. I have nothing else I can say. I only wanted to know if your feelings were real."

She snapped back around to face him. "Then you could have used a little Muggle Magic and ASKED me, Severus."

HIs name. She'd used his name. Not in invitation as before, but still to stirring effect. He paused and gave this some thought. He might not get the answer he was hoping for. She might very reasonably tell him to leave her alone for the remainder of her year here, that their research collaboration was at an end. The student volunteers might be entirely sufficient for her to execute their planned work without him. She might tolerate their research but put a halt to any aspirations for a more personal relationship. The thoughts tumbled upon one another, with few good outcomes. But his name, she'd said it. There was a small glimmer. It seemed like poor timing, with her in an entirely justifiable rage, but what was left to discuss, really? He plunged ahead.

"Morgan, now that the effects of the bluebells have certainly worn off, how do you feel?" His uncertainty that this was a wise course of action echoed in the rapid beating of his heart.

"Fine," she said haughtily, crossing her arms over her chest. "How do you feel, Professor Snape?"

It was more challenge than invitation, but there was at least a small part of invitation. He was being forced to reveal his own feelings before she revealed hers, the exact opposite of what he'd wanted when he began the business of using Legilimency on her in the first place. He failed to completely suppress his cringing at this most disadvantageous position. Unless she drew her wand, however, it could not get much worse.

"I feel...like I am under the effect of bluebells."

She looked at him quizzicallly. "I am not under the effect of bluebells, not a bit." She looked around at the forest and the lake. "That was a lousy move, Professor, really lousy. And I mean to keep my promise if you repeat such a performance. I know how to contact Rita Skeeter in under five minutes, yes, I know her name. I'm angry with you, disappointed…"

"Never again, Morgan. Never. I give you my word." He drew his wand and put it to his heart, where it glowed red, leaving a burn on his jacket.

Hunter was torn. She hadn't been so angry in years. Yes, she'd played a trick on him and hadn't shown him anything of consequence. Yes, he'd demonstrated yet again that he underestimated her, though this could be an advantage in many situations, as it had been before. And, yes, she still had strong feelings for him, though tempered now with indignation. But here he was, making no excuses, only seeking forgiveness, burning his pledge into his heart.

He made no further move. Aha, he was letting her decide. No pressure. She thought she knew what she wanted, what she had been waiting for since that night in the forest. Making significant decisions in this state was unwise. She needed time.

He returned her direct gaze. She was such an impressive witch, small, powerful, skilled, intelligent, bold. Amazing. And perhaps she found him interesting in some way, too. And perhaps, no, not perhaps, certainly. Certainly he had made a mistake, but perhaps not an unforgivable one. This much raw wishing he hadn't felt in years, and the feeling rent his heart. Perhaps he did have another chance to make something of his life, to be more than an outcast. Perhaps….

The eyes of at least 5 people, staff and students, noted that, although the Headmaster and Potions Mistress had departed for a walk around the lake together, Dr. Hunter returned alone and it was some time after lunch before the Headmaster returned.


	17. Chapter 17: Auralite

**Good evening and good morning, readers. This was a difficult chapter to write. Hunter and Snape are unhappy, uncertain, and generally unmotivated. Not an easy place to be. But the good news is, I'll have another chapter to upload, probably tomorrow. Once things begin to settle into place and these two get motivated, things might just move forward again.**

 **As always, thank you for your reading and your reviews. I got one that suggested I was too JKR. Not sure if I should consider that a criticism or compliment! I'll go with compliment for now, at least until I'm writing my own materials. Offer your thoughts. Hunter and Snape still have choices to make. What would you do?**

 **Enjoy!**

 **DN**

Hunter was surprised at the arrival in the lab of two shame-faced 6th-years when she and Snape resumed their research the following week. Snape greeted them as coldly as she'd greeted Snape upon arriving.

"Diggins and Sanchez, good of you to arrive. I'm sure your friends will fill you in on the happenings from the afternoon on your return. As you will, no doubt, report on your own activities. Dr. Hunter and I are working on variations of a deadly poison, Tincture of Twilight, and require help measuring their effectiveness."

Jane Diggins and Hector Sanchez lost their color and weaved slightly on their feet, but did not run. Hunter broke in, casting a look of horror at Snape's unusual teaching style.

"Pardon me, Professor Snape. You are mistaken. We are working on variations of Auralite potion. The other students, the volunteers, have prepared those arrays for today."

Diggins and Sanchez still remained anxiously at attention. Snape consulted the parchment in front of him, lazily running a finger down until he reached the specific point he apparently was looking for.

"Ah, my mistake. You are correct, Professor Hunter." He peered at the two students, to whose facial color was slowly returning. "That will be next week. A fine detention for those foolish enough to befall my ire this coming week."

Dr. Hunter cast him an accusing glance which he returned only with a blank face, then began demonstrating the equipment and ingredients. "This is a New World potion. Does anyone know its properties?" She had hoped, in vain as it happened, that Snape might have read about this item and had his classes make it in their earlier years, but no one raised a hand, not even the Granger witch, who might be relied upon to raise her hand with any inquiry. "This item allows the take to visualize others' auras. Does anyone know what an aura is?" At this question, several hands were raised, including Granger's. She opted to give someone else a chance, selecting one of the two Misses Patel, not sure if she was Padma or Parvati.

"It's a kind of energy that person gives off with different emotions. It's usually described in colors."

"Correct." Hunter was pleased that this week's array was of Auralite, a New World potion. At last they would begin with a New World potion and see what tweaks could be made, using Old World ingredients or techniques. As this potion was among her specialties, she was particularly keen to see if it could be made to last longer than the 2 hours that was typical, or if the taker would be able to see with greater resolution and nuance. She strode around the room as the students got the variations set up, adding capsaicin extract, ground minerals, and beetle carapace flakes into the boiling mixtures. This being a New World potion, Snape had little to say, which suited her just fine. She circulated among the benches to observe technique (good), timing (precise), and measurements (exact). Snape's students were among the best she'd worked with, but the small glimpses she'd had of his teaching methods left her wondering to what extent fear was their motivation, rather than learning and understanding.

"Auralite potion, when done right, will allow the taker to see another's true intentions." She continued her lecture. "A blue aura, seen as a light glow from the taker's face, suggests truth and honesty, a noble heart. Green is deception, red is hidden anger, orange resentment. Gray suggests death is imminent. Yellow is fear and abandonment and purple represents a feeling of superiority or self-importance."

Snape had considerable respect for this New World potion. If it had been available and effective during the time before the war, it might have been more difficult for anyone to mask their true loyalties. He researched it extensively after reading Hunter's research proposal, seeking an antidote or mask for it and had intentionally selected Old World ingredients with the intent to defeat the effectiveness of it, limit the length of its effect, or to make it more responsive to surface feelings. Hunter, on the other hand, was seeking ways to improve its resolution, to allow for greater nuance, and to allow for a more lasting effect. There was strategic value in having both options available to the Potions Master, depending on the circumstances.

Hunter had few opportunities to observe her colleague after his greeting of the detention students, but what she saw left her confused. His suit still bore the burn mark from his pledge. Why hadn't he repaired it or put on a fresh jacket? He'd worn exactly the same jacket every day since their little walk, like it was a hairshirt. He was distant now, detached, coolly professional at all times. Their exchanges were solely what was required to be said to execute their research and to forward her teaching, nothing more. He hadn't been exactly warm and chatty before, but he'd taken his economy of words to a new low.

Her rage was beginning to subside, it being difficult to maintain that level of raw anger for very long without physical consequences, like sore muscles, cracked teeth, and high blood pressure. She'd taken to trying to be outdoors as much as possible these days, recognizing that they were getting shorter in a hurry. Even less light than usual made it down to her classroom and this lab, and she considered moving the research times to evenings, rather than afternoons, the better to take in the available light. But evenings were for astronomy class, study hall, and homework. The schedule for the entire school could not be re-written to suit her needs.

At the conclusion of the experiments, the Auralite samples sealed and stored, the equipment clean thanks to the diligence of the two detention students, Hunter closed the stores and departed, not to be seen or heard until dinner.

Snape cursed himself yet again as she strode from the room. He had no problem with directing the cleanup, which seemed to fall to him more and more as she exited as quickly as possible. His renewed zeal at assigning detentions from his classes meant that there was usually an available scapegoat to handle the less desirable tasks.

His curses were primarily aimed at his utter stupidity in using Legilimency on Hunter. Had he wanted to chase her off, he could hardly have chosen a more successful method. His pledge of respect seemed to have no effect on her. He kept his distance at all times, attempted to be as deferential as possible in the lab, and generally made no pest of himself.

The weekend of her lecture at the Ministry of Magic was one of bleakness for Snape. His long-practiced habits of privacy and isolation, reading and studying in either his office or private quarters no longer felt like a peaceful escape from those who might pry into his affairs, but rather empty spaces that wished to be filled. And not with just anyone prattling on, but with Morgan Hunter. He was captivated by her mind, his own mind making effort to keep up when they discussed their plans. He had hoped that perhaps some of those plans would not be directed solely at potion-making, but those hopes seemed far dimmer now than before.

He mulled over what work needed to be done. His research notes were written, his grading up to date, the school business taken care of. Slowing down his typical strenuous pace of work might be a wise preparation for her times away.

He opted to take a turn around the Quidditch pitch. The October skies were overcast, a chill wind at his back, the trees bending. Ordinarily, he enjoyed watching students attempting to fly under such demanding conditions. Even the most arrogant Chasers would struggle to maintain control. Today, he found the practice round between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff to be of no interest to him. Both the Slytherin and Gryffindor teams were in the stands to observe and study their competition, but he had no desire to stop for small talk about strategy, despite the excellent training that Quidditch was to high-speed flying, dodging hexes, and maintaining a good aim while in the air. He wondered idly if this generation of witches and wizards would even need such skills again. Technically, he hoped not, for that would only be as a result of another rise of Dark Witches and Wizards, with the accompanying death and destruction such conflicts which invariably scarred families, souls, and buildings. But there was another part, a deeply hidden part, a part shameful and revolting to him, that longed to be challenged again, to be able to rise to such a challenge.

But he had challenge enough in Morgan Hunter, he reminded himself. And he seemed to be an utter novice there, failing in spectacular fashion thanks to his hubris. Hunter now fulfilled her obligations, but no more. She arrived in the lab at the appointed times and departed upon completion of her notes, leaving him to direct the clean up with the students. She attended meals, but sat near the end of the staff table, as far away from him as possible. He couldn't blame her, although had he wanted to repeat his mental invasion, the distance would have been irrelevant. He attempted to at least overhear her conversations, but wasn't able to without using magic, given the din from the students. And had she discovered him eavesdropping, the consequence might have been severe. The image of her, leaving on the Hogwarts express out of Hogsmeade, away forever, kept him from any attempts. He had watched from a basement window as she left for Hogsmeade, and that had been torture enough.

He was certain that if he'd requested her presence in his capacity as Headmaster she would come as a matter of professionalism, but he knew that would win him no success in this matter. To the contrary. She would see right away that he was being heavy-handed, further driving her away.

Instead, he observed her whenever it was possible, but remained unseen. Even his thoughts of being present in corridors between classes seemed absurd (as well as obvious), so he contented himself with random observations when the opportunity presented itself organically.

"I heard Snape made a move on Professor Hunter."

The rumor mill had been working overtime. Luna, who always seemed to know more about happenings than anyone else, especially those that weren't published in the _Daily Prophet_ , recounted what she'd heard to an overly alert audience in study hall the following week.

"They went for a long walk last Hogsmeade weekend, but she came back on her own. He didn't come back for hours."

Dean snorted from across the table. "What's that got to with anything? They were probably just getting stuff from the forest, like snails or worms or some other creepy thing."

Luna looked at him like he was a slightly slow child. "How did you get an O in Potions, Dean? Everyone knows that the best time to get ingredients for potions is midnight. Mid-morning would be the worst time to get things, they'd be at about half potency. Professor Snape and Dr. Hunter wouldn't waste their time on that."

Harry and Ron exchanged worried looks.

"That would explain a lot, if he's been given the cold shoulder," said Ginny.

"Explain what?" Ron wanted to know.

"He eased off detentions there for a while and asked for volunteers to help with his and Dr. Hunter's research. Now he's back to his old habits. He's even giving Slytherins detention now."

"I'll believe that when I see it myself," Ernie MacMillan said.

"Believe it," Harry said. "I was working on getting stuff ready for the next day's class when they were doing the research brewing, and Hector Sanchez and Jane Diggins were there, and not as volunteers. They had to clean up the whole thing, 20 different formulas. And no magic."

A collective "ewww" was shared, most remembering their own detentions in years past. Clean up with no magic was among the worst.

"And I never see him in the halls between classes anymore. Usually he stands around and yells at the little kids to move faster or glare at a few who are late to someone else's class." Luna's comment was met with a general nod of agreement.

"You're his apprentice, Harry, what else have you seen?" Harry grimaced at Ron's suggestion. He wasn't prepared to tell them the way Snape had been staring at Dr. Hunter throughout the research session. Harry only knew because he was looking at a reflection in a polished silver plate. Snape had been very careful that neither Hunter nor the other students notice. Whenever she was lecturing or was turned away from him, he remained fixed on her. Harry wondered what Hunter would think if she knew, if she'd given him the brush-off.

"Nothing, other than what you've all seen."

"Don't you see him outside class? You're his godson, after all." Harry's discomfort increased at Anthony Goldstein's comment. The truth was, after the Binding, he hadn't seen Snape at all outside ordinary classes and meals. He would soon enough, now that the applications deadlines for Wizard College were approaching.

"Snape doesn't like to show any favoritism." This comment earned him a derisive snort from Ginny. "He treats me just like anyone else." That was certainly true. Other than the few words of praise Snape let slip at the beginning of Occlumency and Legilimency last week, Harry had difficulty seeing any real difference in his relationship with him.

Luna brought the discussion back around. "It would seem that we would be wise to keep on his good side, if he has one. Love, both returned or unrequited, can make people do strange things."

Harry had to agree with Luna, a strange feeling.

Halloween had arrived.

Hunter considered approaching with the Headmaster just after the morning's memorial ceremony, but decided against it, given the degree to which he seemed to want to be alone, even more so than usual. Praising those who'd fought at the Battle of Hogwarts, then reading the names of those who'd died was clearly difficult, particularly when the names were followed by "Hufflepuff House" or "Ravenclaw," rather than a profession. He stopped speaking several times. Students hugged one another and cried softly, remembering those lost. At the conclusion of his talk, he turned and shot an arc of silver sparks from his wand out over the lake. The students and staff did likewise, filling the morning sunrise with the heat and light of their grief.

With no further words, the Headmaster turned and hiked back to the castle alone. All the other staff (who knew him far better than she, after all) had glanced in his direction with concern in their eyes, but continued back to the castle at a respectful distance. Hunter walked with McGonagall and Trelawney and listened respectfully as Minerva shared some memories of the war and their roles in it. The difficult tasks of both protecting students and fighting the Death Eaters had been incredibly taxing, but they had considered student safety a first priority. She longed to ask for more details, but it seemed like prying to ask about such a delicate, personal matter. She listened and tried to imagine the battle and months leading up to it. There were Death Eaters on the staff, as well as attacking from outside the school. It had been so recently and she still was reading back issues of the _Daily Prophet_ about those who died or were jailed. She was never sure what to believe from that time period, as the paper had a reputation of being a propaganda outlet of the Ministry of Magic, which during that time had been taken over by Dark Wizards and Witches loyal to Voldemort. Now, Kingsley Shacklebolt was serving as Minister of Magic, but she didn't know if that meant the paper could be trusted.

The fact that this had taken place only a few months before was still foreign to Hunter. The repairs to the castle, while not 100% complete, had ceased. What remained unfinished might remain so for a long time, she supposed, given so little budget for staffing. At least there were windows in place now, and thank Merlin. The days were distinctly chillier now, and the nights cold.

After a modest and somewhat hasty lunch, she spent a portion of the afternoon with Celeste Sinistra, the astronomy professor, talking about tonight's evening sky.

"Orion will be ascending, making this a good time for those who hunt. And the moon will be waning at three-quarters, giving good light, but not the blaze and discord driven by a full moon," she noted, sipping the herbal tea Hunter had brought up to the tower.

Hunter took a slow sip of the tea and remembered the discord of the full moon at the equinox. She had carefully monitored herself in the intervening weeks, with no sign that her feelings were anything other than genuine. She had even taken the steps of reversing any charms that may be on her (none) and performing a two-week cleanse with lots of energized mineral water and a rather excessive amount of aloe vera and chia seeds. Although her feelings about her guts had changed quite a good deal during this time, her feelings for the Potions Master had not. She had taken a lot of time to decide whether to forgive him or not for his intrusion and had been grateful to have her time traveling to get away and consider her options without interference. His regret and pledge seemed genuine. Perhaps a second chance was reasonable. This entire year was a kind of second chance for her. But deciding to forgive was also risky. At this point, her staying on might be forwarded by his owing her something. If she forgave, there was plenty of time for things to go wrong and her to find herself on a southbound train come June anyway. With the amount of time they spent together on their research, however, she found her feelings were only intensifying, though why was anyone's guess.

She reminded herself that she knew only very little about him, from their few interactions (notable though they were) and what she'd read. The rest of the staff seemed to be unwilling to gossip about the Headmaster, despite their zeal in speculation about everyone else. His difficult teaching style seemed not to be the standard for the school as a whole, but his own making. She'd had the chance to observe several of the other teachers in class, and only Sinistra approached him in style. And yet she was perfectly charming outside class.

He hadn't pressed his case on her, which she appreciated for a bit, but then considered if it meant he'd lost interest. That was a risk she hadn't considered before now. Maybe he was done with pursuing her. The entire arc of their relationship had really only been bluebells, Amorerverselixir, then his Legilimency. Not much of a foundation. Perhaps he'd simply thought the better of it.

She bid good day to Sinistra and headed back to the staff wing to prepare for the evening. Cutting through the gardens, now a little bit warmer with the afternoon sun, she drew her wand stealthily and put a series of small Boldness Boosting charms among the trees and bushes. Not enough to make anyone foolish or rude, but just a light dusting to stave off adolescent anxieties. She had seen this work well in Sedona many times; it made for many a warm memory for students at these kinds of events, rather than a residue of regrets of what might have been.

Her put her wand away and made her way to her rooms, where she hastily got ready. She had spent more time in the pleasant company of Professor Sinistra that she had originally planned, and now she had run out of time. She could Magic some beauty, but that always seemed cheap to her. Besides, any Witch or Wizard with reasonable skills could see through the charms easily, and the school was filled with talented and experienced staff. She brushed out her hair, changed into more festive robes and set off.

Snape spent most of the remainder of the afternoon in the Headmaster's office, having no papers left to grade, no detentions to administer, no Quidditch game to observe, and no pressing business to attend to. Bina's small desk was uncharacteristically empty. He eyed the Pensieve warily and decided the memories he could retrieve without assistance were troubling enough without dredging up the ones he'd had the comfort of forgetting. There were few that needed saving that he hadn't already stored, but several came to mind. He removed a few ready vials from his numerous pockets and drew the silvery threads from his temple with his wand, transferred them to the vials, wrote a brief label and date, and stored them carefully away in the cabinet beside Dumbledore's portrait. As was common on sunny days, the old man was nowhere to be seen, but would most likely be in the first-floor corridor facing the courtyard or in the astronomy tower facing south to the sun.

He touched the series of silvery vials, particularly the large one labeled with Harry's messy scrawl. Before that night, he'd never saved a memory, it being dangerous to have them outside his immediate control at all times. It was certainly not his intention while the blood seeped from his neck to provide the opportunity to reminisce in a future that seemed lost, but here he was nonetheless. The days spent under Poppy's care had given him plenty of time to both dredge up unpleasant reflections, but also to organize and preserve them. Some could be used against him, but others would act to exonerate him, should it ever have come to that. But he would have to make that choice and he knew those would stay where they were unless someone assaulted them. So many memories, so many choices.

He turned one vial over and over again in his long fingers and pictured throwing it against the stone walls. He felt satisfaction imagining the silver droplets dissipating from the glass shards. Destroying these captured memories from his days as a Death Eater, obliterating the silver threads, wouldn't erase them from his mind nor undo what was done. A Obliviate Charm would be the way out for a weaker man, a Forgetting Potion for the potion man, but he chose to allow the melancholy of those memories wash over him. So many innocent people. He once again reminded himself that he also worked against the Dark Lord, saved many lives, and that this redeemed him in the eyes of some. Though not all.

He closed the cabinet and locked it, placing the weighty silver key back in the drawer. A few charms accompanied by a little wand-waving and the seals were secure. The sad musings of an aging man, time wasted looking backward. Choices were made, hearts were changed. He had been ready for the end, to go to the other side, welcomed it even, but was sent back. For a second life sentence. There was a future ahead of him, probably filled with more sunny days spent alone indoors lamenting.

He closed the desk drawer with a snap and swept out of the office, surprising a group of Hufflepuff 7th and 8th years talking animatedly about their dates for the ball. They immediately fell silent under the unusually stern glare from the Headmaster. Not breaking his stride, he heard Ernie MacMillan say "Worse day than usual, I guess." Hannah Abbott, "Probably because of the memorial." Another agreed, saying "I know how he feels." As was his long-practiced habit, Snape scoffed, but the truth was these students had lived through the war, maybe fought, probably lost friends or family, definitely felt terror and loss. Maybe it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that they did know how he felt, at least in small part.

Back in the protection of his personal chambers, he braced himself for the evening ahead. Despite his abhorrence of attending such functions, he yet again subverted Severus Snape the man for Severus Snape, Hogwarts' Headmaster. It was hard to imagine that the staff or students would be pleased to see him nor that his presence would be missed should he fail to make an appearance. However, it was his job and if there was one thing he knew well, it was duty. The image of himself dressed in some sort of costume (perhaps as Longbottom's grandmother?) and the shocked reaction this would generate brought a small smile to his face, but he opted instead for just washing up. He combed back his hair in a now-familiar motion and fastened it with a small leather strap.


	18. Chapter 18: The Halloween Ball

**Good day, readers. I've been working on this one for a while, trying to get it right. I think it's much improved and now ready for primetime. I hope you enjoy it. More to come. International travel does allow for long stretches of uninterrupted thinking time. As ever, please do offer reviews and critique. Enjoy! - DN**

"I hope there's not too much dancing this year," Ron complained to Harry as Hermione and Ginny sat opposite deep in a private conversation. Ron grimaced. "What could they possibly have to talk about, they've been together all day."

"Probably about what songs they'll want to dance to and how they hope there'll be lots of dancing this year," Harry speculated. "Did you get yourself one of those Funky Fudges George was selling? Good for at least an hour they say." Harry decided it wasn't the time or place to tell Ron he was hoping the evening would involve at least a little time in the shadows of the garden with Ginny. A guy didn't need to hear that about his sister. Between the regular 7th year class load, with the extra study halls for N.E.W.T. preparations, the addition of Occlumency and Legilimency, and his Potions apprenticeship (like a regularly recurring detention), this year had been incredibly time-consuming. He was actually pleased to have declined the captainship of the Quidditch team. Demelza Robins was doing a great job and it took a little of the pressure off him. Not to mention it didn't seem fair to the regular 7th years if the "8th" years took all the leadership positions.

He had spent more time in the library this year than all the others combined, but now that his future seemed so close by, it made more sense to him to invest. Ron was there constantly, either studying or cataloguing books in the Restricted Section for his apprentice hours. Even Hermione seemed overloaded, which was really saying something since the time-turner days.

Hermione refilled her plate with more roasted chicken and potatoes while Ginny had moved on to a dessert of candy corn and chocolate frogs. "Planning your dance moves, Ron?" Ginny teased. "Hopefully you'll be a better date than 4th year." Ron threw a roll at her, which she caught easily and munched.

"He invited me while we were still on the train to school this year," Hermione laughed. "Nothing left to chance this time."

Ron reddened slightly. "I'm learning, give a guy a chance."

"How many do you need, Ron? You're like a cat, with nine lives." Ginny caught the second roll that Ron launched, but tossed it back to Harry, who then beaned Ron with it.

Just as Ron was readying it for a second throw, this time at Hermione for having the nerve to laugh at Ginny's joke, a long pale hand swiped the roll from Ron. "Save your catching and throwing for the Quidditch pitch, Weasley," Snape said quietly. "Or it will be 5 points from Gryffindor." Snape tossed the roll idly in his hand as he continued his stroll to the staff table.

Harry grinned as Snape walked away, eliciting a jab from an aggrieved Ron. "I'm pretty sure he was joking, Ron."

"I don't care what you say, Harry. That guy's as scary as ever. I'm still waiting for him to expel me."

Snape smiled just then or maybe it was a grimace. Ron worried how loud he'd said that and how much joy it would give Snape if he just had a good reason to boot him out. He'd faced down Voldemort, for heaven's sake. Surely he could handle Snape. He returned his attention to dessert and the difficult decision of choosing between the pumpkin cheesecake and apple pie.

Hermione turned to Ginny, speaking quietly, not entirely certain that Snape hadn't overheard Ron. "There's something different about him lately, don't you think? He wears his hair tied back now, but that's not it."

"It's probably a big load off to not need to be a double agent anymore," Ginny replied, looking as closely as she dared without staring obviously. "Yeah, I think I can see what you're saying. He seems younger now than before, maybe even a little bit better looking. And his nose doesn't seem as large. Must be an effect of the hair?"

Ron leaned over to Harry and spoke so Hermione (and Snape) wouldn't hear. "Just about anything would improve that face. There wasn't much further down to go." Harry replied only with a shake of his head.

The Hogwarts Halloween feast was unlike the ones at the Sedona School. If this wasn't the highlight of the Hogwarts year, Hunter couldn't imagine what would be. A carpet of candles shone from overhead. The ceiling of the Great Hall was star-strewn with the moon rising. Bats flew across it from time to time. The walls were covered in pumpkin vines, with large pumpkins serving as punch bowls at intervals near the floor and as lanterns further up. She complimented Flitwick and Sprout on the amazing effects and the house elves on the food. Even the Headmaster seemed like he was in a reasonably good mood as he approached the staff table, tossing a dinner roll idly in his hand. The conversation among her dinner partners focused mainly on the students, identifying of who was seeing whom, or had they parted ways, and who was likely to begin a new romance of the evening. No one had time to speculate about the staff tonight, though it had been rumored that Sinistra was seeing the new Muggle Studies professor and that Trelawney might be seeing someone, though no one seemed to know who. Trelawney made a practice of saying very little about herself, turning most conversations back on what she saw in the future for those around her, which was rarely optimistic. Hunter found the Seer rather unconvincing, despite knowing several Seers in Sedona and Boston who were quite talented. But the rest of the staff, if not fully convinced by her regular dire predictions, were at least respectful of her.

After dinner, Snape rose slowly and silence befell the hall as was required when the Headmaster moved to the lectern, lest your House lose points for disrespect.

"Here we go," Ginny muttered. "Another long speech."

Harry, remembering the epic one from the first night, settled in for a long sit. The good news was that Snape had allowed them to eat first, so he didn't feel faint from hunger like then.

Snape towered over the lectern and stared out over the amassed students, the tables covered with the remains of a good meal devoured. An audible groan circulated as he examined several parchments, then silence again, as his piercing gaze fell on each house table, one by one. "Professor Flitwick informs me there will be music and dancing tonight." He looked down his nose over the students, a sneer of distaste fixed on his mouth. "So be it."

The students sat silently for a few moments more, expecting there to be more, much more, to be said. Snape stood glaring out from behind the lectern for a while, as the sneer slowly evolved into the tiniest smile. He put the parchments in his pocket, turned on his heel and retook his seat.

Cheers broke out as hundreds of students stood up at once. Flitwick and Sprout waved their wands in unison, and the long house tables disappeared, replaced by smaller round tables. The band got set up on one side. Then the candles dimmed, leaving only the stars on the ceiling and the jack-o-lanterns glowing to illuminate the scene.

Once the band began to play, it was evident that George Weasley had sold more than a few Funky Fudges, as energetic and athletic dancing was on display, often from the most unexpected students. Dennis Creevey was doing a lindy hop with Ngoyo Obasaju. Janiss Ames and Seamus Finnigan were bouncing off the walls, and even Neville Longbottom seemed reasonably well-coordinated as he boogied with Cho Chang. Ron had declined the offer to take any magical fudge, but humored Hermione by doing his best, which was not very creditable, other than for effort. Harry and Ginny also declined magical dancing enhancement, but admired the moves of those who hadn't.

Predictably, once the first hour was over, things calmed down a great deal. After a refreshment of another round of pumpkin juice, the band offered a series of slower dances, which lead to a few students deciding to exit the Great Hall for the gardens outside. Soon, Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Ron were nowhere to be seen.

Hunter had enjoyed the display and was impressed by the effectiveness of the Funky Fudge. No one had been hurt (at least not seriously enough to need the hospital wing) and no one seemed to be falling over with exhaustion as the effects wore off. Perhaps tomorrow would be a different story, depending on the ingredients used.

She had accepted offers from Flitwick and Vector to dance and finally found herself in a group of staff witches reliving dances from their youth, once the band began to play some oldies. But once the slow songs started, she made her way back to the staff table, intending to continue her chat with Madam Hooch and her husband about a Quidditch after-party that had to be broken up by the Department of Magical Games and Sports for conduct unbecoming of national champions. Just as she sat down, Snape stood up, staring intently at the doors out into the courtyard, then striding off across the dance floor, which cleared quickly in his path, embracing couples eyeing him nervously, hoping they weren't the target of whatever it was he was seeking out.

McGonagall exchanged a worried glance with Madam Hooch as the Headmaster exited towards the garden. Curious herself and seeing an opportunity, Hunter excused herself at the conclusion of the Quidditch story, heading toward the drink table to get some pumpkin juice. After, she redirected her steps and made her way more subtly towards the doors out.

Harry and Ginny had found a quiet bench, which was difficult given the number of couples now outside enjoying the crisp night air and the glow of the moon. Harry had taken Ginny's hand in his and was beginning to remark on how great it was to be at the ball, having missed it and her last year, but before he had uttered more than a half-dozen words, she kissed him. Once he came up for air, he resumed his thoughts, but she cut him off again with another kiss, after which he thought the better of it and followed her lead, realizing that she was telling him the same thing, only with no words. Suddenly, it was she who pulled away and straightened her robes, clearing her throat and saying something about being cold and should they go back in. Harry was confused and then saw the tall figure of Snape bearing down on them. His stomach tied itself in knots, wondering what could bring the Headmaster out to the garden, concluding that it could not be good news.

"Good evening, Professor Snape," Harry said as conversationally as he could, having just been interrupted in the first decent moment he and Ginny had shared in months.

Snape continued past without breaking stride, saying "Carry on, Weasley," as he did so. Ginny shrugged and appeared ready to resume, but Harry held her off, nodding in the direction Snape walked. With each successive couple, although Snape never spoke or scolded, suddenly Dean was overcome with a coughing fit that required going in to find something to drink. Cho started sneezing uncontrollably, as Neville offered her his handkerchief. The Patel twins were following their dates, exchanging familiar looks of irritation and disappointment as they gave up trying to catch up to their dates who were both suddenly urgently running in the direction of the nearest boys' lavatory. Ginny tried hard not to laugh as she heard Hermione asking Ron what happened, followed by the sounds of most of his extensive dinner landing in the bushes.

"Snape has a positively _evil_ sense of humor," Ginny said admiringly. "Wish I knew half those charms. No one teaches us the good ones."

Harry was amused, as well, but also grateful that they had managed to escape being his target. At least until he felt his lips begin to swell. And he was even less pleased when Ginny nearly fell off the bench laughing. Eventually, after letting him sputter incomprehensibly for a time, his lips now the size of three-week-old Blast-Ended Skrewts, she uttered a Reducio spell and his lips went back to normal. He was about to give her a well-deserved tongue-lashing, but she hushed him and indicated the door out to the garden as Professor Hunter emerged, looked around a bit, then moved in the direction of the Headmaster, easy to see with his height reaching over most of the hedges and his pale skin reflecting the moonlight. Hermione and Ron arrived just then, Ron still looking a little green even in the darkness.

Hunter had no problem finding Snape in the garden, as she only needed to listen for the sounds of disturbed couples as he went on his stroll. She nearly broke out laughing at the effects of his jinxes on the unsuspecting pairs. Soon the garden was cleared out, which suited her purposes well. She had protected herself with a counter-charm to the Boldness charm she put out, so as to keep her judgement sound, but she felt a surge of courage as she took in the sight of him again in the moonlight. She continued until she reached him near the walls, keeping her steps quiet and slowing down as she got closer. She had thought she might take him by surprise, but he turned and greeted her as if they had made an arrangement to meet.

"Professor Hunter, your Boldness Charms have had their intended effect," he said with no anger in his voice. "Very mild, very subtle, but with a lasting residue that was clearly New World."

She smiled at his demonstration of his analytical skill. There were the first words he'd said to her that weren't required for research or teaching administration since their walk by the lake. She realized how much she enjoyed his dark wit, and how much she had missed it.

"And your series of counter jinxes were certainly various and effective, Headmaster." She continued forward until they were together at the wall.

"They'll wear off before they completely ruin the evenings, if their dates are patient enough," he said, to which she stifled a laugh. "I should return to the Great Hall."

"Please don't go just yet, Severus," she said quietly, holding out a hand to stop him.

Ron still looked a bit green and was rubbing his stomach as he and Hermione wandered back to the bench where Ginny and Harry still sat.

"Oy," he groaned, with a hand now at his back. "That was rotten. What'd I eat that you guys didn't?"

Ginny grabbed Harry's knee as a warning, then turned, her eyes fixed on a small break in the shrubs between their bench and the lower part of the garden. "Shut it, guys. Professor Hunter just went out after Snape."

A twitter passed through them and they all crowded around, but the break in the bushes was small. Only Ginny could see, and she wasn't giving up her place.

"What's going on? I heard they have been really frosty with each other after that walk a few weeks ago," Hermione said quietly.

"What walk," asked Ron. "What's the big deal about a walk?"

"Shhh, Ron, they'll hear you. Everyone knows about this. They went for a walk together, but she came back alone. He didn't come back for hours," Hermione reported. "Remember, it was right after he got that bad migraine right in the middle of dinner."

"So what," Ron replied nonchalantly. "He probably went to get some grubworms or boomslangs and she didn't. Who could blame her?"

"Professor Hunter is a Potions Mistress, Ron, she doesn't get squeamish about skinning boomslangs. Not like some people…" Hermione retorted.

Ginny hushed them with a wave of her hand before Ron could reply. "She's going up to him. He's making to head back to the castle, but she's stopped him."

"With her wand?" Harry wanted to know.

"No, just with her hand and standing in his way."

"Snape would never let someone stand in his way. He's so much taller than she is, he'll probably just stand over her until she moves." Harry was speculating. He'd seen him do that before, but not with a fellow teacher. At least, not lately.

"What's she saying?" Hermione asked urgently.

"Can't tell," Ginny said distractedly.

"Just when you want extendable ears, to spy on Snape of all people," muttered Ron.

"Now Snape looks like he's protesting something, he's put his hands up."

"Is she angry with him?" Ron wished Ginny had omnioculars, so she could replay the scene. He'd love to see little Professor Hunter giving Snape a good talking to. His belly began to feel better at the thought.

"It's hard to say. She's not smiling, but she's not shaking a fist, either. Snape's backing away."

"Maybe she'll hex him," Ron said, with more hopefulness to his voice than concern.

"Easy, Ron," said Harry.

"Sorry, I forgot his godson is with us," Ron said ruefully. Harry gave him a jovial punch, and Ginny shushed them again before their sparring got too noisy.

"Oooooh, now she's got his hands, she's not letting him come back. She's still talking. He's touching that burned spot on his jacket. He looks like he wants to get away from her, he keeps stepping back, but she keeps up with him."

"What does she look like? Angry, upset, pleading? Why does he want to get away?" Hermione asked.

"No, she looks, I don't know, like she's saying something difficult. She keeps stopping and looking away, then talking some more. He's not saying anything. Now he's backed himself up to the garden wall, there's nowhere else for him to go unless he wants to fall over the garden wall or try flying without a broom again."

Harry's eyes widened at that thought, remembering the last time he'd seen Snape do that. Hopefully whatever was going on down there wouldn't rise to that level of desperation. It occurred to him that Professor Hunter probably didn't even know Snape could do that, unless someone had taken her aside and given her the inventory of his skills. Which seemed unlikely. He wondered what else she didn't know about him. The Daily Prophet wasn't exactly a catalogue of history, nor was it especially accurate.

"You think she'll toss him over the wall, Harry?" Ron said.

"She's too clever for that sort of approach," Harry said. "If she wants to cause him harm, she'd just put something extra in his oatmeal. Something a bezoar can't get out."

Ron nodded in thoughtful agreement.

"Now what?" hissed Hermione.

Ginny's voice had changed. It shook slightly. "She's still coming towards him, he's put his hands down, she's holding one."

"She's holding his hand, like holding it back or…like…holding his hand?" Hermione asked breathlessly.

"Holding it, and he's not grabbing it away. Now he's…he's…."

"What!?" spit out Ron. "What's going on?"

Ginny flapped her hand behind her urgently to quiet them, transfixed to the scene through the branches. "He's kissing her hand. She's … oh dear…. I think he's….Merlin's beard….they're going to…they are….."

Ginny pulled her face away from the hedge, blushing a deep red.

"What?" said Ron, Harry, and Hermione in unison.

"They're kissing."

"What?!" roared Ron, roughly pushing Ginny aside and making a leap for the opening in the bushes.

"I can't see anything," he complained. "A bunch of fog just rolled in."

Ginny, Harry, and Hermione grinned, knowing just how that fog had arrived.

She'd forgiven him. And now she was kissing him. Severus Snape struggled to recall any previous time that he had ever experienced such a thing in his life. Dumbledore had not exactly forgiven him, just allowed him to pay a penance for his help. Lily had never forgiven him. Well, perhaps in some way in the Other World. If that was real and not just the delusions of a man near death. And he'd certainly never forgiven himself.

The receiving of Morgan's forgiveness was not merely an emotional event, but a physical one. He felt his muscles change, his stomach change, the very rhythm of his senses change. His offense, while serious and not forgotten, was overcome. They could move forward now. He was drawn to her, her wit, her scent, her humor, her intelligence, and she seemed drawn to him, too. To what, exactly, he couldn't imagine, but here was the proof. She wasn't under any spells, the effect of the bluebells long gone and her now immune to them, the Amoreverselixir effective. And yet, here she was. Here she was, a most remarkable witch, in his arms, on a moonlit night.

She'd forgiven him. And now he was kissing her. Morgan Hunter felt immense relief in letting her anger go, in forgiving. Yes, it was a serious offense, not easily overlooked. And she wasn't overlooking it, far from it. She'd made clear her plans should he repeat his actions, and she meant to follow through. But in forgiving, she received release as much as he did. All the pent-up anger, the seething, the clenched teeth, were now dissipated.

It felt wonderful, almost like their first kiss. She searched herself for any trace of a spell or some other love potion, but found nothing. She could relax now, enjoy this moment, knowing it was real. She had wished the moonlight were brighter, but a fog had come up suddenly, obscuring nearly everything in the garden.

Janiss had placed a Silencio Charm and a Binding Jinx on Seamus the moment they'd arrived on the other side of the garden wall. She listened with the Extendable Ear she'd bought at Weasley's shop on the first Hogsmeade weekend, seeing its potential. And what she'd heard! So much tender emotion, how sweet. Snape and Hunter, just as all the rumors had implied. Hopping hippogriffs, news certainly traveled fast in this tiny, insular community. She nearly froze to death, remaining silent and still in the deep shadows below the garden wall, breathing only when the winds through the trees might over the sound. At last, her quarry decided to go back inside. She reversed the Silencio and Binding spells on Seamus, who immediately began to sputter and curse. "What in the name of Godric Gryffindor was THAT about?!" She tossed a small Obliviate his way, then took him carefully by the arm and led him back in.


	19. Chapter 19: All Souls

**At last! Morgan and Severus have some time to themselves. Hope you enjoy! Reviews ever welcome. DN**

"Have you noticed the fall flowers this year?" Neville asked at breakfast Monday morning.

No one responded, mouths occupied with eating. No one else noticed things like that except Neville.

"I noticed yesterday. All of a sudden, the whole garden and the slope down towards the lake have fall flowers blooming. It's really late this year, and really pretty. Quite intense."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Leave it to you to notice the late-bloomers, Neville, being one yourself. Have a good time at the ball, did you?"

Neville blushed, but didn't reply. Instead, he finished his porridge, grabbed his satchel and made for the door. "Professor Sprout's waiting for me to get some ingredients before Potions. Later, guys."

"Give him a break, Ron," chided Harry. "At least he didn't throw up on his date."

"I didn't throw up on her," Ron protested.

"Just near me," Hermione replied. "But he's right, the flowers are blooming late this year, even though it's gotten cold." She gave Ginny a meaningful look. "Late bloomers, indeed." Ginny grinned.

Ron looked at the two girls in exasperation, then back to Harry. "Fill me in, mate. Is Hermione trying to say she wants me to bring her flowers? It might work out better if she just said so directly."

"I don't think that's what she's trying to say, Ron, but flowers are probably a good idea, anyhow."

Ron tossed a remark over his shoulder. "Oy, Seamus. You getting any flowers for Janiss? You looked pretty smitten the other night."

Seamus looked at Ron, his face dull with confusion. "Did I? I dunno, maybe. Think I should?"

Ron and Harry traded meaningful looks. "Must've been a good evening. He's still not recovered and it's time for Potions. Maybe we'll make Pepper-Up Potion today," Ron said.

"No, that would be too merciful for Snape," Seamus noted.

Ron nodded, but added "Careful, that's Harry's godfather you're talking about."

Ginny chewed her spinach thoughtfully at dinner later that week, casting furtive glances towards the staff table. "Hermione, this whole Snape-Hunter thing is going well, don't you think?"

Ron, overhearing, agreed readily. "Yeah, no one's getting detention or chewed out in the halls all week. It's nearly pleasant. I think I might even graduate."

"I heard some sixth-year blew up a batch with something rare in it. No detention. Seamus and Janiss fouled up their Pepper-Up Potion they were working on together Monday. Snape just let them start over. No detention." Hermione drew in more closely and dropped her voice. "It's weird, you know."

"Yeah," intoned Ron. "You'd think he'd lost his mind."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "That's not what I mean, Ron. I mean it's weird that Janiss fouls up so much and gets detention. For someone who's here because she got better than her American teachers, she's not very impressive. And I thought Potions teaching was supposed to be quite creditable in the States."

Ginny nodded. "I wonder if her parents bought her way in. The school needs money. I mean, all the repairs have stopped, even though stuff still needs doing. And the food's a lot cheaper this year. I mean, how much porridge can we have for breakfast?"

Ron planned to express a whole-hearted agreement with that statement, but opted to wait until his mouth was no longer full of ham. Instead, he just grunted his opinion.

"And tuition was really cheap, too, so there's less money coming in." Harry had been pondering this point ever since they'd gotten their notices at the Burrow over the summer.

"But there are also a lot more students," Hermione noted. "The younger years are a lot bigger groups than before. Maybe that offsets it."

"Maybe the Ministry is subsidizing the school, since after the war a lot of people don't have a lot of extra money lying around," Ginny noted.

"I doubt it," Hermione said. "From what the Daily Prophet says, the Ministry favors fines over any other punishment these days, because they haven't got any money, either. A lot was stolen during the war and never recovered. Getting their money back has become a constant theme. They don't even confiscate people's wands for using Dark Magic anymore, just fine them double whatever gains they made using Dark Magic. It's expensive to keep witches and wizards in prison. And I see fund-raising appeals for Hogwarts in adverts almost every day."

Harry broke in. "Sorry to break up an entertaining discussion, but astronomy is about to start. Snape might not be giving detentions, but I bet Sinistra still would if we're late." Everyone gasped, grabbed their bags and hurried off, the shortness of the days now having caught them by surprise.

The collaboration between the Headmaster and the Potions Mistress had become exceptionally fruitful. Afternoons of research crowded with students now gave way to more pleasant evenings spent writing up their results from the first round of experiments and beginning to submit them for publication.

Bina had felt somewhat slighted that she wasn't doing the writing, but suspected that more than writing alone was taking place in those evenings in the Headmaster's office. There was no doubt that writing was happening, as she'd sent four scrolls of parchment out to The International Journal of Potions Research to prove it, but there was something else, as well. A mood perhaps. One is usually not this pleased by writing up research, thought Bina. Though she had no experience with that, it still seemed unlikely that people working their way through the laborious process of summarizing complex work found it enjoyable enough to spend so many hours on it, and in such good moods. She didn't mind having more free time to herself, but stopping work at 4:00pm was new, as she typically assisted the Headmaster, often working on school business until 8:00 or 9:00 in the evenings. Now he managed to finish during daylight hours. Bina spent her extra time in the library, as she was trying to learn more about Elvish history and school administration. Perhaps one day she might even teach a class. Perhaps.

Hunter was delighted by the changes she'd seen in Severus. His demand that they be discreet in the presence of students was understandable. It certainly wasn't the students' concern if they were seeing each other socially now and it was best if no one knew about such things. She did her best to maintain perfect professionalism at meals, in the corridors, and in class. Any of the staff might take walks out on weekend days, and besides, almost all of the older students went to Hogsmeade that weekend anyhow. She was spending a good deal less time in the library, but there was no rule that said teachers had to do their reading there. It was perfectly reasonable to take a book with her and read it at her leisure elsewhere. And all this time spent in the Headmaster's office was explained away by their need to publish the results of their first round of formulas. She'd been quite specific on the topic to the student volunteers, lest they get some other idea in their heads about why she was there almost every evening. Well, every evening. Except. Well, every evening. Writing and publishing took a lot of time.

She'd noticed pleasant changes in his demeanor, as well. Still not what you might call talkative, but at least he asked a few questions about her personally. What had she taught at Sedona? How were things different or the same there? Which did she prefer? He didn't seem to like some of her answers, especially when she mentioned that she thought giving so many detentions was not productive, but she continued on as though she hadn't noticed his growl. He was particularly interested to hear more about the use of minerals and crystals in potions and magic there, as this was an area at which Sedona excelled.

There were now no students in detention, but she wasn't sure if that was because he simply didn't have the time to supervise them in the evenings, given his other activities, or if he had been persuaded by her talk of the Sedona methods. Either way, she approved of this trend. He still spent more time describing the students' most recent brewing failures than she would, but it seemed to be with more amusement now and perhaps a little less anger. And, she found, if things did start to move in the direction of anger, she could easily change the tone with a touch of his shoulder. Which usually led to his touching her hand on his shoulder. Then his kissing that hand, then at least a 20 minute delay in whatever task they were working on.

Snape was still working on getting accustomed to having another person about. He found his own insistence on discretion in the presence of students and staff nearly impossible to obey. He almost wished she would go back to sitting at the far end of the staff table, as her sitting next to him at meals was nearly intolerable. His desire to touch her hand, to gaze at her profile, to smile when she said something witty, was nearly uncontrollable. He could hear the rumors in his head if he were caught grinning like some fool at breakfast. By the time the Advanced Potions class began immediately after breakfast, there would be no end to the murmurings, if not outright stares. A few detentions assigned, house points taken away, would get things back on track, but the 7th and 8th years seemed considerably less concerned about both detentions and house points. And who could blame them? They knew what things really mattered after last year.

He simply didn't feel like giving more detentions. What pleasure he'd found in punishing those who were dimwitted in class was now gone. Instead, he found it better to stand over the miscreant in class, scowling and lecturing, until the correct potion was produced. The student, as well as those nearby, got the full review of the potion and its theory in exhaustive detail, and a better sample was produced, with no need to grit his teeth (much). Plus the added dividend of more time available for writing up the results of his and Professor Hunter's first quarter's experiments. His hopes of increasing his list of publications was quickly taking shape in a series of four papers on the formulas they'd already worked on. Even if only two or three were accepted, that was more than he'd published in years.

It was a late-November weekend. Parse Winder had insisted she return to the Ministry to deliver another series of talks on poison analysis, theory, and antidotes. Apparently her first round of talks had gone well, which was not surprising. Compounding her talent for Potions was her talent for talking.

He had too much time to himself, too much time to think. This new presence in his life was both enjoyable and highly disconcerting, he thought as he walked back from the library, the chill in hallways already necessitating a warming charm. What he'd felt before, for Lily, had been all-consuming, a desire that allowed for no compromise. Friendship alone simply wasn't sufficient. All or nothing. He'd been on the nothing end of that. He'd ached for her, been driven to the edge of sanity to see her with someone else. It was a kind of internal violence, that love. Demanding, painful, scarring.

But this was different, his feelings for Morgan Hunter. Very different. He felt a warmth within, a pull to her, but nothing of the greed that he'd felt before. If she were talking to one of the other wizards on the staff, he felt no jealousy. At the Halloween Ball, seeing her dancing with Vector and Flitwick, he wasn't jealous of the wizards, but jealous of her, her freedom, her enjoyment. When she spent time with the staff witches, he was fine to spend some time on his own, though he preferred their spending time together. Her time away lecturing left him feeling profoundly empty, rather than angry. It was simply different. But it brought forth troubling questions. Did this imply that his previous love for Lily wasn't truly love? Or was this not truly love? Was the love different? Or was he different?

The low light of the chilly afternoon had shifted, the daylight drawing to a close despite the relatively early hour. It was time, time for her arrival back from Hogsmeade. From his vantage point in the astronomy tower one could observe the train from the greatest distance. He watched as the train snaked across the heaths, then slowed as it approached Hogsmeade station. He'd sent Filch to meet her at the station, to take her trunk, even though he knew she was quite capable of both carrying it and of casting a Leviosa spell. She stepped down from the train, wearing her purple winter cloak that he liked so much, with the wide brim of the matching hat obscuring her eyes from this high angle, her long braid trailing halfway down her back confirming her identity. He jumped back into the shadows of the tower as she turned her gaze upwards. How did she know?, he wondered. Then a flock of owls flapped by and her eyes followed them on past the tower. It was time to go down to the gates, anyhow.

They arrived at the same time, Filch scuttling off to put her trunk in her room.

"Professor Hunter, welcome back. If you have a moment, I'd like to hear how your lecture at the Ministry was received." A useful cover for anyone standing by who might overhear.

"Good day, Headmaster. It's good to be back. I'd be delighted to tell you all about it. Shall we talk in your office?"

He made efforts not to run, as did she. Now safely behind the locked and charmed door, he drew her into his arms at once and kissed her deeply, despite the bending over that was required. Once free again, she went up two of the stone stairs in front of him, until she was at his eye level, and kissed him on the way up.

"I think you missed me, Severus," she teased as they rose on the spiral staircase.

Snape said nothing for a moment. "Our work proceeds better when you are here, Dr. Hunter."

Once in the office proper, he sat on the overstuffed chair while she quickly hung up her cloak and hat, then pulled her into his lap, the better to kiss her yet again.

She was right. How he'd missed her. He didn't even realize how much he'd missed her until she was here, again, in his arms. He'd almost forgotten the feeling of her fingers on his cheek, the way she would draw off the band and free his hair. Finally she rested her head on his shoulder and they stared into the fireplace in silence.

After a time, he said "I do want to hear about your talk, you know. At some point."

She put a finger to his lips to quiet him. "And at some point, I'll tell you all about it. Just not now."

He knew that when she was ready to tell him, she would leave out no detail. She would talk nearly non-stop for as much as two hours, probably discussing even the dinners, who was there, what they ate, what they talked about, and even if the food was any good. He would add an occasional murmur to let her know that he was still listening, and she would continue. His mind worked best in silence, hers in spoken words. She would think aloud, writing out ideas as she talked, thinking of new things they might explore inspired by the questions she'd been asked, considering adding new parts to her lessons, making insightful observations that she'd write into their next paper. Far from simply glazing over indulgently, he would be captivated, thinking on every word, though largely silent himself. He thought smugly of the ways that he would surprise her by bringing up the things she'd said, her having assumed that he had paid little attention to her monologue.

This peace, this warmth, and not just from the fireplace, but from within. This was what he'd been missing all his life. It was not just a lack of anger, not just a dissipation of rage and resentment. But something that took up space of its own, that pushed out those feelings. They'd been present so long, he no longer even noticed them, until now that they'd withered. He had this strange new feeling growing ever since she arrived, but it was slow and small then. He hadn't really noticed it. When he had noticed, he had attributed it to his recovery, his situation having changed so much so quickly. But like a seedling, now that it was being tended to, it was growing, and making the weeds of discontent wilt. Where could this go?, he wondered, holding her in the glow of the fire, as the last rays of sun disappeared outside. It was already so powerful, already so large.

He refused to think now about what would happen if this were to be removed in some way. Here she was, and here he was.

He told himself that he'd made the right choice, all those years ago. Hiding everything under a hard surface. Had his enemies but known even an inkling of his inner life, his entire ruse of support for the Dark Lord would have been instantly seen as the sham that it was. Had he shown any kindness to Harry, word would have spread like wildfire, probably first from the mouth of Draco Malfoy. Any expression of kindness would have been seen as weakness and put everything he cared about in danger. His own life had hardly been relevant, only to protect the others, to atone for the crimes of his days as a Death Eater. Still there were those who might use love as a weapon, even now. As he held her close, listening to her breathe and the crackle of the wood, he knew how dangerous this was, should this information all into the hands of those who opposed him still.

Hunter rested there, in his arms, not sure if the warmth she felt was from the fireplace, from him, or within her. What did it matter, really? What she saw in him was so rare. Being out on the train and in London, she'd been reminded of how truly unique he was. The Ministry was especially taxing. Being invited to give another lecture at the Ministry and to have the Education Minister escorting her about, parading her like a prized trophy, and introducing her to so many important witches and wizards was thrilling and she'd made the most of the opportunity. But behind every discussion, every meeting, every convivial dinner, she really only wanted to return. Even Minister Winder's invitation to come back in February had little appeal, despite the effusive hospitality he'd shown her.

She thought she'd lost this forever, this feeling of security, of knowing. She pondered how vulnerable she would be if he really knew how much she would be willing to forgive. Some wizards might take advantage; some did, she knew. But there was at least one who did not, now perhaps there were two in the world. She would tell him everything at some point, just not now. No, for now, she simply listened to his heartbeat and her own, feeling stronger than she had in more than a year.


	20. Chapter 20: Astronomy

**Happy holiday, readers. Thanks for being patient with me. This chapter is extra long and will, it is to be hoped, be followed by others shortly. If you have the time, a review or two would be most welcomed. Enjoy! DN**

The first snows fell the following week, frosting the late-fall flowers with a crystal encasement, clinging to the last leaves of the oaks and birches as they held on stubbornly in the icy wind. The lake was still unfrozen and would be for some time, but the rocks along the shore had become perilously slippery. Students bored in classes kept a watchful eye to catch the sight of a raven or a squirrel slipping off the glazed stones. In the best-case scenario, students were treated to the sight of a slimy tentacle snapping up and finishing off the unfortunate animal that slipped too close to the cold water.

Daylight had now became a precious commodity, with students and staff alike clustering in the courtyards despite the cold, scarves pulled up to chins, hats and boots drawn at last from trunks, and hot chocolate and cider in great demand. The chill in the halls and classrooms was met with winter robes and warming charms, only the common rooms, Great Hall, and the library having truly sufficient heat.

"It's a plot to keep us all studying as much as possible," posited Hannah Abbott, grumbling with the rest of the Hufflepuffs crowded uncharacteristically in the library.

"Won't matter, anyway," muttered Susan Bones after Madam Pince materialized to shush them. "The end-of-term exams are always designed to make you glad to leave."

Ron and Ginny nodded and even Hermione didn't object. But Harry was dreading the holidays this year, though he hadn't mentioned it to anyone. Despite his invitation to the Burrow, he had not accepted yet, still weighing the option of staying at school. A few students generally did, if their parents were traveling or some other circumstance prevented a family gathering. Knowing this was his last year in this place he loved so much, he wanted to get as much as he could. He imagined himself spending a good deal of time lying in, wandering, and generally goofing off. Until the image of Snape, commanding him to do something useful with his time or putting him to work in the Potions lab entered his mind. This possibility had much less appeal.

Whatever beneficent changes had overcome his godfather, he was still Snape. Harry had yet to identify even one time when the Headmaster had eased up on him relative to before. Indeed, there were fewer insults and fewer detentions, but his time outside of classes and Quidditch practice seemed relentlessly filled with homework and Potions research. He had expected more of his godfather's time outside class, more advice and guidance, more … _something._ Of course Severus Snape was not going to Transfigure into Sirius Black (what an insult it would be to suggest it to Snape), Harry knew. But still, he had expected a little more involvement of some kind. After all, why would Snape have accepted Harry's request for the relationship in the first place? He had nothing to gain and seemed to have little interest in him as an individual.

What was it that he wanted from Snape, anyway? He considered scheduling time with the Headmaster, but struggled to express even to himself just what it was he was seeking. Snape would have been irritated to have his time wasted with a general chat session, Harry supposed. He tried to picture Snape hanging around of an evening, telling stories over a couple of mugs of hot chocolate. He could only picture him reading, writing, grading, or brewing; doing something purposeful. The Snape he knew would never be idle, either in his person or his mind.

How would he explain why he wanted to stay over the holiday, as Snape would surely ask for, if not require, a good reason before granting permission. It seemed as though his life was moving too fast and too slowly at the same time. The gnawing sense of the boredom that his future held remained. And yet his years at Hogwarts were all too quickly coming to an end. The certainty and structure that he'd rebelled against now felt like a familiar rhythm, a reliable pattern. What lay beyond was uncharted and would require him to navigate independently, a prospect that was at once both thrilling and frightening. He could be his own man, make his own decisions, but for what? Deciding what kind of uniformly boring job to occupy, finding a dingy flat to rent, figuring out which unappetizing pizza to order. All of it held no appeal.

Even the thought of Ginny didn't cheer him. What could he offer her now, other than a future of mediocrity? He'd hardly looked to the future before, the present being nearly more than the Wizarding world could handle. Now he saw both of them with boring jobs, coming home tired in the evenings, each blaming the other for life's many disappointments, large and small. He cared very much for Ginny, but being a boring disappointment to her for a lifetime seemed more like a disservice to her every day. Perhaps it was better to end things now while she still had plenty of time to socialize with all the other guys in the 7th and 8th years. And college, which he had made efforts to avoid thinking about. She'd meet someone a lot more interesting there, while he wasn't even sure he'd apply.

With these thoughts in his mind and heaviness in his heart, he decided to schedule a meeting with his godfather and request to remain over the holidays and worked quickly to come up with a good cover story to keep Ron and Ginny from Stupefying him when he told them his plan.

Aurora Sinistra eyed her two intruders carefully. Professor Hunter was busy making the adjustments to the telescope that she'd recommended, her fine red woolen robe moving with the strong winds that were typical of the top of the astronomy tower this time of year. Sinistra admired her new colleague's fashion sense, as well as her obvious wealth, given that all of her robes, shoes, and hats seemed to be from this month's issue of Magical Mufti Monthly. Had she been about a foot and a half taller and perhaps got a better hairstyle, she might have been a model, albeit one with an "interesting" face.

She turned her side-long observation to the Headmaster sitting nearby, observing not the stars and planets, but the Potions Mistress. Having been a long-time colleague of Snape's, she could tell with no doubt that he was in deep. His deference to her, how he stood too near her when they walked in, how he rarely took his eyes off her, except when she was looking at him. Sinistra had noted the gradual changes over the past month; a lessening of his usual caustic sarcasm to a mere mild general irritation; a degree of patience in staff meetings that meant that ideas other than his own might now be heard and considered; and his taking some care for his personal grooming. Previously, she'd been able to tell what he or his students had been brewing for the past several days solely from the odor emanating from his clothing. That had been replaced by a subtle scent of soap and aromatic spices of some kind. His hair was more likely to be tied back than not and his teeth had seemed a bit less yellowed of late. Somehow, even his nose seemed shorter and straighter than before, but that must have been an effect of his changing his hair.

Here they were again, for their now-habitual Friday-evening star gaze. What opposites they were. Him tall, thin, dark, and silent. Her short, rounded, light in her coloring and constantly talking. Usually gregarious and talkative. Except here in the astronomy tower. Perhaps that was why he brought her here, as she became uncharacteristically quiet here which probably suited him more. Sinistra had found Hunter to be an unusually informed and able student of astronomy and got the impression that, in fact, it was Hunter who led them here, rather than Snape. Their visit had ostensibly been a practical one: Hunter needed to know when the optimal time for having her class brew Girding Potion would be, so that they might be strong enough to endure the holidays with their families. The doxy eggs required would be best taken at the conjunction of the moon and Mars. What Snape might be doing, other than spending time with Hunter, was not known to her.

 _Why are you so worried for Severus,_ Sinistra wondered to herself. _He's an adult, he can handle himself. You would not want to be the object of his speculation about your personal life and you'd do well not to speculate about his._ So said the mind. In her heart, she worried. In the many years she'd known him, he'd never had a romantic relationship to the extent that anyone knew. He was better known for being abrasive than attractive or even tolerant of others. He had been reasonably professional as Headmaster this year (in contrast to last year) and treated his colleagues with respect, but was certainly no one's notion of warm and approachable as Dumbledore had been. It seemed he had little experience with being pleasant to anyone, never mind to court a witch. How would he ever manage not to offend or bark at her? And for Hunter, she seemed like a delightful and sociable kind, making friends easily among the Hogwarts' staff and quickly becoming a student favorite. Being well-liked was not as important as being effective and seeing as many students as possible pass their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, she reminded herself. It remained to be seen if Professor Hunter could do both.

 _It's only a matter of time before he fouls things up,_ she thought. There could be no doubt that Severus would descend into obsessiveness or make some biting remark meant to be witty and Hunter would be ready to be done with him. What she saw in him was a matter of intense debate among the staff, who noted his talent. But tempered with his silent, solitary habits, his condescension to most of the students, and the nagging questions remaining from his time as a Death Eater, it was a recipe for heartbreak for him. At the end of her year here, Morgan Hunter would surely seek someone better-looking, with ambitions to match her own. And if Sinistra felt this way about her new friend, what might others who were less charitable than her be saying?

How to tell a friend about her lover's past? Sinistra had pondered this very notion for the past few weeks. There seemed to be no good answer. It wasn't a topic that had come up naturally in conversation. Even if it had, it was Snape's place to confess, despite the extensive coverage in the _Daily Prophet._ Not to mention the effect on her own job, should the Headmaster discover where the information originated. There simply was no good way to approach the subject. Perhaps she already knew and had reconciled herself to it? Improbable. But love can make people do strange things and in truth, Sinistra knew very little about her friend, other than what she herself had told her, little of which could be verified. She was a world-famous potions witch, that much was known. Otherwise, a mystery.

Sinistra said her good evenings as soon as was reasonable to do so, having the good sense to know when her presence was extraneous. Hunter finally heard the last of Sinistra's heels on the stones as she retreated down the stairs.

"There's Orion, the hunter, with the Seven Sisters near," she noted, pointing at the figures in the night. A cold wind swept through the clear, crisp night. Severus drew her closer and surrounded her with his cloak, despite the efficacy of her warming charm and her own cloak. She did not resist, but relaxed against him as his arms slid around her waist. "The sky in Sedona is different," she said, so quietly he had to strain to hear her.

She became silent then, resting, breathing, looking upwards. As much as he enjoyed hearing her voice, holding her in silence was far more preferable. No other place had this effect on her, improving his opinion of this place that held such painful memories for him otherwise. He considered how to begin telling her about Albus, Voldemort, the wars. Himself. But instead he held the silence and allowed it to grow, taking in her scent, softness of her hair on his cheek, the sound of her heartbeat, the rhythm of her breath. He wondered what she thought of, standing here so long and so still. He extinguished the idea of Legilimency as quickly as it entered his mind, knowing the result of that. Or he could simply ask, which he did.

"Sometime you can come with me to Sedona and I'll show you," she said, turning into his embrace.

Some time later, once even the warming charms weren't needed, they opted to return to the Headmaster's office before saying their final goodnights.

"Your coming with me to Sedona, I meant that," she said. Sensing hesitation on his part, she filled the space. "Is something wrong, Severus? You seem troubled by something."

 _Troubled? By the risk I place myself in getting close to you? By the knowledge of how fast you'd leave if you knew too much about my past? By the fear growing inside that you'd leave if you knew too much about my future? Wondering when you'll notice that some wizard like Parse Winder is far more attractive and better-positioned?_ He paused to consider the sheer number of wizards who were both more attractive and better-positioned than himself.

Snape's instinct was to be annoyed with himself, as he was generally skilled at hiding his emotions. But Morgan seemed to be keenly observant of his moods and unusually skilled at reading him. He knew denying the presence of inner turmoil was useless. In the previous few weeks of seeing one another socially, he had come to know that her assessments of his moods were accurate and that she was persistent in his talking about things he usually kept only to himself.

And strangely, he was beginning to appreciate having a peer with whom to discuss things (some things), another of his ongoing adjustments to a normal life, one in which he was no longer a double agent constantly placing himself in danger to serve the Greater Good. He opted to discuss a less sensitive issue that had been on his mind and leave the others for another time. He took the chair opposite hers in front of the fire, which had burned down, it now being late in the evening. He had wine and some fruit appear, knowing her taste for red wine with winter apples. He sat squarely there, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

"It's Janiss Ames, the new American student," he began slowly. "She was sent here with the claim that her abilities exceeded her teachers at the Salem Academy in Potions, the career that she wishes to pursue. I have seen nothing of this supposed talent in class. She has yet to successfully make a Potion during the class period, but seems perfectly competent, though undistinguished, during her detentions, of which she's now had six and the first term hasn't yet ended. That hardly puts her in equal rank with Weasley and Longbottom, but I had expected more with her background." He spoke more carefully now, choosing his words. "May I presume that Potions instruction in the US is, at least, relatively equivalent to that which you observe at Hogwarts?"

Hunter put down her glass and sat back contemplatively. She narrowed her eyes and took another moment to reply. "Yes, overall. While the Sedona School was regularly ranked above the Salem Academy in that category, their course of study is well-regarded. Taught by Priscilla Corey, who's well-known and well-respected. Now, her teaching approach _is_ somewhat different from yours…"

"In what way?" Snape drawled, his eyes flashing a warning.

Hunter couldn't help but let out a laugh. "We are considerably more...egalitarian...in the States." Snape growled at this comment, but she continued as though she hadn't heard. "Students at her level, the advanced level, are typically taught to question and experiment, to see what happens if they change the formula or use novel ingredients." She paused to see what effect these words had on Snape, for whom the notion of allowing students to think independently was clearly novel.

"The Potion will fail," Snape stated flatly. "Wasting precious materials and time. Given that the formulas have been tested over the centuries, I cannot see the value."

"Every Potion will fail in different ways, but a few may be improvements," Hunter said evenly. "Even the best theory needs to be tested, just as we are doing with our collaboration." She heard a dismissive snort from Snape. She took a sip of her wine, savoring its warm color in the low light and the flavors of toasted oak and berries in it. "I've been thinking we should work on the formula for snake bites next."

"What species of snake were you thinking?" he asked idly, still staring into the embers.

"Slytherin."

She grinned as he now invited her to share his chair, which she was happy to do. "It may already be too late for you," he said darkly, nuzzling her ear and neck.

Hunter paused before continuing. "I wanted to bring you up to date on my speaking engagements."

Snape was pleased that she wasn't returning to the subject of his traveling with her to Sedona, as it allowed him more time to avoid making excuses for his never leaving the school. It was no surprise that she referred to her lectures in the plural. Interest in this most well-regarded Potion-maker had been as he expected before her arrival. _Where to now,_ he wondered, as he enjoyed feeling of her relaxing in his arms. Perhaps Durmstrang? Borealis Hall? The Academy of Transylvania? No doubt, by the end of her time here, she would have made the rounds of all the relevant teaching institutions of Europe. His mind stumbled slightly as the words "end of her time here" took shape there.

"My most recent talks at the Ministry and Beauxbatons went well. Madame Maxime and her staff send you and the Hogwarts staff warm greetings," she said, as though he should be pleased at this.

 _A mere formality, collegial posturing._ He was familiar with this part of academic practice. His former student, Bill Weasley, had married the Beauxbatons Triwizard Cup champion, Fleur Delacoeur, some years past. He worked with at the Ministry, while she wrote notable books on Transfiguration in French. _No doubt a rip-off from British Witchcraft,_ he though with some degree of smugness.

"My next talk will be in Reykjavik, at Borealis Hall, in January, if that's OK."

 _Long nights and the aurora in Iceland in January._

"Yes, fine, of course," he intoned, waving his wand toward his calendar, which snapped into his hand, opened to the following month. "You'll need me to cover your classes, I take it? This will require some planning for our research potions, of course, as we had planned to complete an array of Veritaserum with the valerian replaced by your crystal powders…"

"No, I asked Pomona Sprout to cover my classes. The potions we were going to do in classes were primary herbal extracts. Mostly about what parts of Deadly Nightshade to use, what is waste, and what precautions to take during handling. She'll be good at that."

"I hope you've alerted Madam Pomfrey of this schedule? She will want to be prepared, and I'll make some additional antidote…" Deadly Nightshade, while somewhat dangerous, was nothing on the order of magnitude of scorpion venom. _A few mishaps might serve to improve students' diligence and focus their attention._ That pleasant thought further elevated his mood.

"Good idea, I will notify her in the morning," Hunter said. Snape could tell she had more to say, so he waited, knowing she was unlikely to require prompting.

"Severus, there is more that I need to ask you," she said, rising and returning to her own chair, yet maintaining her steady gaze.

Snape set aside the calendar and waited silently. _Perhaps we needs more Nightshade? Are we out already?_ That seemed unlikely, as they had harvested an excellent and potent amount the evening of, well, the evening of the solstice. No mind, he'd be delighted to make a return to the forest with her of an evening, even a cold one, if there was anything that they needed.

Hunter hesitated. This was awkward to ask, given for how short a time they'd been seeing each other. But she'd made up her mind and she wasn't going to back down. That was not her style.

"The Headmaster of Borealis, Hakkan Andersson, asked me to invite you, as well. He'd like to have both of us there to discuss our work on New and Old World potions, as well as just to meet you in person. The news about the war traveled there, but of course they didn't get the full story." There, it was out of her mouth. She prepared for his reaction, which might range from delightful to distressing.

"I'll send Hakkan an owl and decline," said Snape evenly. He rose and returned to his desk, drawing out a parchment and quill. He quickly penned a short note, signing it with a simple SS.

As he proceeded to roll up the message and seal it, she continued uncomfortably. "Andersson was very keen on your being there, Severus. I'm not sure he actually was interested in having me lecture alone. I've taken the step of asking Madam Pomfrey if she might cover your classes on that day, to free your time, and she agreed."

Any rise in his mood brought on by thought of students' and Deadly Nightshade incidents was decidedly gone, replaced by testiness that she had been so forward as to ask Poppy about his classes before speaking with him. "I can't afford to be away from the school, Morgan. Andersson will be pleased with your expertise. If you need help with developing your lecture…"

Hunter cut him off. "I don't need help with a lecture, I've done hundreds of these, Severus."

"I didn't mean to imply…"

"Of course you didn't. My point is, you need to get out of here and represent the school more broadly, if you want Hogwarts to be world-class as you claim." She realized she had spoken much more harshly than she intended by the glare that had replaced the warmth in his face she'd seen earlier. She attempted to soften her approach. "No amount of parchment can replace presence, Severus. I hope you'll reconsider, both for the school and for me. Iceland is said to be very romantic in winter."

"I can't afford to be away from the school, Dr. Hunter, as I said," he replied, biting off each word, stepping out from behind his desk. "You will be an excellent ambassador. If Andersson requires an additional perspective on Old World portions, I can send word to Horace Slughorn, the Hogwarts Potions Master who preceded me. He certainly knows the Old World well enough and would be more than pleased to share a podium with you." Slughorn would be so delighted to meet such an eminent personality, he would probably Stun himself. Snape passed his hand over a drawer and a small card leapt from it which was embossed "Horace J. Slughorn, Potions Master Emeritus, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" with his address listed as a fashionable area near Diagon Alley in London.

The evening ended with less warmth in office with the fireplace than had been present in the icy winds of the astronomy tower. Hunter walked back to the Ravenclaw tower mulling over the progress in their relationship. What was behind Severus' reluctance to come with her anywhere? Was he embarrassed to be seen with her? It was reasonable not to be overly public with their seeing one another within the bounds of the school, but it was strange that he had never invited her for a afternoon, a dinner, or a drink in Hogsmeade. The holidays were coming shortly and she had pondered over the idea of inviting him to spend some time in London with her during the break. It would be nice to explore the magic of the city with Severus instead of all the official gatherings she's been to with Parse Winder, who never let her have a moment's peace before introducing her to another well-placed or well-heeled witch or wizard. But Severus had never even mentioned the upcoming holiday, leaving her to wonder if she should bring it up herself. His chilly reaction to a weekend at Borealis convinced her to give him a few days time before she broached the subject.

Snape marched down to his chambers, gritting his teeth over turn an otherwise pleasant evening had taken. Deciding to set those issues aside for the moment and to focus on something on which he felt a more firm foundation, he puzzled over Janiss Ames's transcripts and letters of referral again. Everything pointed to her success, not only in Potions, but in her other areas of study, as well. Morgan had confirmed that the Salem Academy had a reputation for excellence in Potions teaching (though second to her own institution) and that she knew the teachers there. A confrontation was in order.

"Where's Janiss?" Luna asked Seamus innocently at Study Hall the following Monday. With end-of-term exams coming soon, and more attention being paid to college applications, everyone was bearing down. The 7th and 8th years were writing long scrolls of parchment with essays on the influence of vessel size and composition on the brewing times and outcomes of potions.

Seamus looked at her in surprise. "I thought you heard everything. She's in detention with Snape."

Luna looked taken aback. "Really? I thought Professor Snape didn't give detentions anymore. No one's gotten one in weeks."

Seamus looked uncomfortable. Ron jumped in. "Well, he couldn't really NOT give her detention today. She called him an old bat and knocked her cauldron over, on purpose. Nearly fried Seamus's lab notebook, it did." Seamus didn't disagree. Ron did his best Snape impression, confident the Headmaster was now safely deep in the dungeon and not behind him. "I'll see you in detention, tonight, Miss Ames. Six o'clock sharp. And 20 points from Ravenclaw." Ron glared stonily. "For insolence."

Harry winced again, remembering the familiar chill in Snape's voice and thinking about how angry the younger Ravenclaws would be. Ravenclaw never lost house points, and certainly not for "insolence." He'd spent more than a few detentions with the Potions Master simply for fouling up a preparation; what would it be like for someone who'd insulted him in class?

"It was weird, she just said it out of nowhere. We were doing really well on the Potion, too, some kind of cleansing potion to restore beazors. And then I had to clean up her mess," Seamus said miserably. "I had thought being her lab partner would be great, her supposedly being good at Potions and all. Now I'd rather be with Pansy Parkinson than her. Don't know how I'll get a N.E.W.T. at this rate."

At this remark, they all shuddered to remember why they were in study hall in the first place and got back to reading, writing, and thinking. Hermione did a lot of thinking, too, but not about lessons. What WAS going on with the American student?

Six pm might as well have been midnight, with the sun having set more than an hour before. The chill of the outside air had thoroughly invaded the dungeons, making the always-forbidding atmosphere even more unwelcoming. The flames from student's brewing usually warmed the room, in addition to the presence of the students themselves. Neither of those was present now. Janiss arrived two minutes in advance, shamefaced and uncertain. The Headmaster greeter her stonily, pointing to a bench near the front of the classroom, closing the door quietly behind her.

"Miss Ames, I was under the impression that you wanted to further your Potions expertise," he began without preamble, standing over her as she sat. His voice was controlled and even, but his words acid. "I am thus far unimpressed with your efforts as well as with your attitude. While you make any number of errors in class, you seem to be perfectly capable of making the item in the evenings. Perhaps your American professors have not informed you that for the N.E.W.T. exams, you will have only one opportunity to make the requested Potion. The examiners from the Ministry will not be as forgiving as I am. Should you fail, it would reflect poorly on you, which would be appropriate, given what you have demonstrated so far. However, your performance also reflects upon this institution and upon me. Therefore, your failure to achieve a N.E.W.T. is a circumstance I will not tolerate. Furthermore, you've shown inexcusable disrespect in my class. Explain yourself."

The Headmaster's words chilled Janiss. She'd been in his detentions before, several times. The mood was never friendly, but strict. Set up the equipment, listen to his lecture on each and every ingredient, preparation, technique, method, and result, going back to the basics that she'd learned in her first three years. Then the clean-up, always without magic, always filthy, and usually a few other students' leftover mess to add to her own.

Tonight was different. There was no equipment out, no formula written on the board. He had not ordered her to begin work on anything at all. She saw no piles of cauldrons, smelled no lingering stench of potions gone bad.

Where to begin in this dangerous situation? Hogwarts students had told her fantastic tales of Professor Snape. It was rumored that the Headmaster had dueled a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in front of students (and won), poisoned Harry Potter in his fifth year, and had attempted to expel Ron Weasley almost yearly. Those were the rumors that had some substantiation. She'd also heard others far worse, that he had been a Death Eater, a murderer. She had regarded those rumors as utterly false. How could he be Headmaster here if they were true? She silently hoped that expulsion and the failure that would accompany that would not be her fate. She hadn't come here to fail. But if the other rumors were true, her fate might be worse. She made a mental note of the location of her wand and brought to mind several defensive spells.

"I don't know what to say, sir," she started. "First, I have made many of these, or at least versions of them, back home in the States, so I try to go a little further with the recipes in your class. The results sometimes come out differently, but you never test them to see if they even work." She heard a distinct snort of derision, but plowed ahead despite this. "When I'm here on my own, you offer more information about the formula, more theory, more background. I understand it better. In class, you barely get into that at all. You wave your wand at the board and we just follow instructions." She broke off.

Snape eyed her, still gritting his teeth at her brazen insults. Her criticisms did nothing to diminish his anger. He paced the room as she sat, sprawled carelessly her chair, looking at her quill, rolling it repeatedly in her fingers. He gave himself time to cool somewhat, weighing expulsion or some further punishment.

"Miss Ames, if you would like to decide how a Potions class is taught, I suggest that you apply yourself to your studies such that you might possibly get into university, then embark on a teaching career of your own. Recall your admission to university requires both N.E.W.T.s _and_ the recommendation of your teachers. Until I receive some explanation as to your current behaviours, neither of those seem especially likely."

His words were icy, measured, further chilling Janiss. She could feel his glare boring into her as he paced around her. She worried when he got between her and the door. She'd taken this as far as was necessary. She might fail, but she would not do so without trying.

"I," she started. She sat up a little straighter and put her quill down next to her inkwell.

"Go on," he said.

Janiss hung her head and muttered. "Speak up," he demanded, his temper rising. She continued to look down and mutter. He stepped closer. "Either make yourself understood or pack your things for your return trip to the States," he said icily, leaning down to hear her.

She turned quickly and kissed him full on the mouth.

Snape jumped back, his wand drawn in an instant, crackles of energy sparking from it.

Janiss stared at him, the space breached, with no turning back. Her heart raced, hoping that she would not be jinxed or injured in some way, or worse. Down in the dungeon, the heavy wooden classroom door closed, who would hear her if she were jinxed? With her poor spell-casting and defensive skills, she didn't stand a chance against a far more skilled and possibly less restrained former Death Eater.

As if reading her thoughts, he said "Don't even think of drawing your wand against me, Miss Ames."

She began to collect her things, her hands shaking violently, knocking her book, quill, and inkpot on the floor where it smashed. "I'll clean that up," she started. The sound of smashing glass seemed to break the frozen moment, probably only a second but feeling like an hour as her heart raced and her fear grew.

Snape cut her off, his wand and voice startlingly steady. "You will leave this classroom and return to your dormitory, Miss Ames." He now pocketed his wand but remained fully prepared to respond. He snapped his fingers, and a house elf appeared. "Caron, escort Miss Ames directly back to the Ravenclaw common room and inform her Head of House that we will be having a discussion tomorrow after breakfast."

"Yes, Headmaster," the elf said, bowing low.

Janiss left her things behind and walked behind the elf, her legs barely holding her up as she walked unsteadily towards Ravenclaw.

Hermione was already eating breakfast by the time Harry and Ron appeared, still looking sleepy, though they had managed to dress and comb their hair. She was reading the _Daily Prophet_ , as usual. "Oh my gosh, you guys. You have to read this before Snape confiscates the papers again." She folded back the pages to a story on Page 2.

" _Are Love Potions Part of the Lesson Plans at Hogwarts?_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Headmaster Severus Snape yet again finds himself embroiled in yet another romantic tangle, two now in just the fall term. The photo clearly shows the Professor in obvious embrace with his student, Janiss Ames, a recent transfer from the Salem Academy in Boston."_

Harry felt the blood draining from his hand as he held the paper. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, but there was Snape, standing over Janiss, their lips touching. Snape looked like he always did, testy and irritated, eyes narrowed with aggravation. Must have happened in detention, as he had seen Janiss clean up her things and walk out of the lesson that day. For her part, she looked like a swooning, love-struck teenager, eyes closed, lips parted. The contrast couldn't have been greater. Harry found it odd that this photo, unlike the previous one of Snape and Dr. Hunter, didn't move. He had grown so accustomed to the moving images in the paper, that now a still photo seemed odd. Was it pasted together like fraudulent photos in Muggle newspapers? While no big fan of the _Prophet_ , given the stories they had printed about him in the past, Harry doubted that even they would stoop that low. He looked as close as possible, but couldn't see anything that looked like a patch or uneven place where images might have been placed together.

" _The student, who transferred under the guise of receiving advanced coursework in Potions, her particular talent, seems to be getting instruction in other subjects, as well. Although she is considered of age, having turned 17 in May, the abuse of position by a teacher carries with it significant sanctions from the Ministry's Department of Magical Education._

 _Under ordinary circumstances, this might be handled with some amount of discretion on the part of the Ministry, but it is rumored that the Ministry of Magic is already none too happy with the results of the Professor's trial, despite the acquittal on most of the more serious charges. Those close to the case, which remains sealed for unknown reasons, believe that the good Professor may be handed the harshest sentence possible. This reporter will continue to follow this story as it develops._

Hermione spoke in a low voice across the table, just in case the Headmaster should appear at any moment. "This could be very serious. Professor Snape is on probation and the Ministry still isn't happy with him."

Harry munched his egg and sausage sandwich and asked "What is the Ministry on about? He was tried and sentenced. He was only convicted on minor charges, and yet he's on probation for practically forever. Any idea why?"

Luna piped up. "If you read the Quibbler, you'd know that the Ministry thought Professor Snape had a lot of money at Gringott's. But when they confiscated his fortune after his sentencing, it turned out he had nothing. They probably would have sentenced him more severely had they known in advance that taking him for everything he was worth would be so unsatisfying."

Harry pretended to be surprised by Snape's poverty, but he'd had it quantified before the Binding. So was the much-rumored Snape fortune always a fable, or had something else happened to the money? Perhaps he, Ron, and Hermione could investigate and get it back, if it had ever existed in the first place. And Luna would be the most likely person to know.

As casually as he could, Harry asked "Did he ever have anything, or was that all rumor, too?"

Luna regarded Harry quizzically. "You don't read much, do you? Snape made a fortune as a Death Eater when he was young, making and selling poisons and potions. At some point, he inherited his parent's house. And it's not like he's a big spender, as far as anyone could tell. I mean, have you ever seen him wearing any jewelry or even new clothes?"

Harry felt flat-footed. He hadn't really done a lot of reading and it hadn't occurred to him to ponder what Snape did with his free time or his money. Surely he did something with his time off, holidays, weekends? Thinking now, he couldn't remember Snape even going to Hogsmeade this year. Perhaps as Headmaster he could delegate this unpleasant duty to others.

He made up his mind to investigate further and see what had become of Snape's fortune. He needed to meet with his godfather to discuss staying at the school during the holidays, anyhow.


	21. Chapter 21: Ethinian Ames

**A second chapter, for the long holiday weekend. Happy reading! Happy reviewing? Please do. DN**

Morgan Hunter hurried down the main corridor as quickly as she could, having locked her classroom and posted a ghost at the door to let students know class would be delayed. With students between classes now, the halls were crowded and her progress slower than she would have liked. The pouring rain outside only compounded the problem, as few students used the outdoor courtyards to get from one class to another.

She tried to keep her expression impassive, but she drew quizzical looks from students as she strode through them. More than a few stared outright or spoke in whispers to fellow students behind hands as she passed. No doubt rumors would begin in earnest from her own students as they pondered what could cause a last-minute class delay this close to exams.

At last reaching the Headmaster's office, she spoke the password (bufotenine), and took the stairs on the revolving stone staircase two at a time.

"Professor Snape!" thundered Ethinian Ames, standing over the Headmaster's desk and showering him with his forceful words. "I'll have your head! The Ministry, or whatever you call it over here, better take some action or I'll take action myself," he sputtered, gesturing towards Parse Winder and Hypatia Alexander, who allowed the enraged father to finish his rant without interruption. Flitwick, seated next to Janiss, kept a hand close to his wand, ready to assist if the situation were to get violent. Snape briefly met his eyes and gave an otherwise imperceptible nod, then returned his attention to the blustering man.

"The Ministry will take the appropriate steps to respond to this issue, Mr. Ames, I assure you. Your anger is understandable, but there is no need to shout," Professor McGonagall said tersely.

"And who the heck are you," Ames shouted, rounding on her as she remained seated.

"Dad!" exclaimed Janiss, breaking her silence. "This isn't helping." She stood and took his elbow, trying to encourage him to take his seat next to hers. He shook off her grip and glared at those assembled, then sat, clearly still burning with anger.

"This creep," he said, jabbing his finger in Snape's direction, "was making advances on my daughter, his student. It's all over the papers! And I'm the one out of line?! Is that what passes for fair play over here?" Ames growled considerably less loudly, but no less threateningly. He turned to Winder. "I want a thorough investigation, sir."

"And you shall have it," the Minister of Magical Education replied, with a trace of glee in his voice that did not go unnoticed by anyone. He turned to Snape, a smug look in his eyes. "Let's begin the inquiry with you, Headmaster. Can you explain how you came to be in the photo that appeared in this morning's _Daily Prophet_?"

"Of course I can," Snape said smoothly, in a measured tone that reflected none of the belligerent tone that Ames had used. "Miss Ames had earned herself yet another detention for directly insulting me in class." At this, Mr. Ames snorted in disbelief. "During this detention, I requested an explanation for her poor performance since her arrival here, as well as for her insolence. She muttered incomprehensibly, so I leaned forward to hear her better, at which point she assaulted me, as you've all seen illustrated in the papers."

" _SHE_ assaulted _YOU?!_ That's an insult!" bellowed Mr. Ames, pounding his fist on the oaken desk, rattling the inkstand and quills with his force. The portraits on the walls looked on disapprovingly as their frames rattled, except for Dumbledore, who seemed rather amused by the display and put another handful of popcorn in his mouth.

"Worry not, Mr. Ames. The Ministry can compel the truth in its interrogations. Veritaserum can be procured, if needed, so the truth will come out, one way or another. And the Headmaster is known to make a particularly potent formula." Winder gave Snape a sneer, then turned to Janiss, his expression now one of gentle concern. "Miss Ames, please tell us, in your own words, what happened, as honestly and as completely as possible. We here at the Ministry will protect you from any retaliation on the part of the Headmaster, so please speak freely."

Janiss hesitated, looking anxiously from her father, to Flitwick, to Professor Snape, then back to Winder. Snape's expression was neutral, his body still.

"It happened just like the Headmaster said," she choked out, now looking at the floor in a voice so quiet it took effort to hear. "I spoke quietly so he would have to come nearer. And then I kissed him." She hung her head and twisted the edge of her robe in her clenched fist.

Mr. Ames was thunderstruck. "Janiss!" he spit out angrily. "Why?"

She glared at her father, but didn't reply.

Everyone in the room was silently in shock, except for Snape, whose expression never changed and who showed no sign of surprise. Winder, clearly put off by this most unexpected outcome, was able to speak next. "Miss Ames, I will ask that you explain yourself now. If I am not fully satisfied with your responses, I'll have little choice but to launch the full investigation, as your father has requested. It will certainly be easier for you to provide your testimony here, rather than in a public courtroom." He and Hypatia exchanged glances.

Janiss regarded Snape as much as she could, speaking her words with effort. "I came to Hogwarts to study Potions with Professor Snape, because I was more advanced than my teachers back at the Salem Academy. My father felt that Professor Snape would be able to teach me more, so he asked if I could transfer here to finish my education, and the Headmaster agreed.

"I assumed that I would be given advanced education, maybe some research, but instead I was placed in the same class as the rest of the upper-year Hogwarts students, doing regular work, making regular potions. Even the research opportunity was just helping with the grunt work of setting up equipment and following instructions. So I started to experiment on my own, to see if I could improve on the formulas. But when some of the experiments went wrong, Professor Snape would give me detention instead of asking me what I did and trying to understand what I was doing."

She looked accusingly at the dark Potions Master, but he appeared unfazed by her harsh words.

"But detention was like a whole new world. He would explain more there, going into the theory behind the potion, explain how it really worked. When I asked questions, he would answer them, not just tell me to follow the instructions and get on with it. Detention was the best part of class, so I started to intentionally foul up in class in order to try to get detentions. And it worked. Professor Snape nevers fails to give detentions, if possible."

Here she paused, but those in the room gave her time to gather her thoughts and continue without interruption.

"After a while, I realized I actually admired Professor Snape. He's very smart, as well as handsome. I started to develop a crush. That day, I just lost control. I don't know what I thought would happen. I guess I was foolish enough to imagine that my feelings might be returned…"

"You are my student!" Snape spat out, as everyone else in the room jumped at this unexpected outburst. "I am both your teacher and your Headmaster. Surely you know that would be a serious violation."

Janiss nodded glumly. "I know. Had I thought more about it, I would have known that you would never…."

Suddenly, the door to the office was thrown open, as Morgan Hunter burst in. "Headmaster, I am missing…" She suddenly became aware that the Headmaster was not the only person in the room. Her color rose sharply, a mottled red haze spreading across her cheeks and down her neck. Then she realized who the assembled were and what it was that they were most likely talking about. Turning an even brighter red, she attempted to excuse herself quickly. "Begging your pardon, I didn't realize. I'll come back later." She turned on her heels and made to exit as hastily as she'd entered.

"Morgan," said Mr. Ames silkily. "You're teaching here now, are you?"

A palpable chill filled the room, competing with the silence that followed Mr. Ames' comment. Those in the room held their breath collectively.

Hunter stopped with her back to the group, her hand on the door handle, not wanting to see the look on the Headmaster's face as he processed this new wrinkle in an already wrinkled situation. Ethinian's snide and familiar tone would not have escaped his notice. She, too, needed a moment to let her reeling thoughts extend out to their conclusions, the relationships and connections wrapping around her brain like a spider's web, and her the fly, sticking fast. Struggling would only tighten the tangle. She took a breath and turned to face Ethinian. "Yes, Ethinian. I started this fall."

No hugs or even handshakes were offered, as Ames kept his seat.

"How fortunate of you to land so well," he drawled. "And now you also get the chance to greet your niece. Janiss, say hello to your Aunt Morgan."

Janiss, wide-eyed, stood and extended her hand to a frigid Hunter, who returned the gesture with as much warmth as the unexpected introduction could muster. "Janiss, it's a pleasure."

"Likewise, Aunt Morgan," the girl said uncomfortably. "I wondered if you were my aunt, by the name and your job. I could never find the time to ask. Glad to meet, though I wish it were under less...surprising...circumstances."

Ames sat back and smiled at Snape. "So, this is your new target, Morgan? A Headmaster? A little more ambitious this time? I've been reading about your romance in the local news," he said sarcastically. He addressed Snape directly now. "The Snape fortune piqued her interest, no doubt. She makes a habit of finding wealthy wizards. Beware, though," he said conspiratorially. "Her previous husband, my brother, met an untimely and mysterious end."

Snape's eyes narrowed threateningly. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ames."

"Ethinian, you rat. How dare you make such unfounded accusations here?" Hunter spat back.

"So sorry," he said to her, in mock deference. "Am I ruining your plan to add his fortune to yours? Or hadn't you told your new lover about your late husband, my brother?"

Snape didn't reply, but only looked at Hunter. Why didn't he defend her, she wondered. Good grief, it seems that he believes Ethinian. Her heart sank. She needed to withdraw as soon as possible.

She turned sharply away from Ames and back to the Minister, his deputy, McGonagall and Snape. "I will leave you to your business, with apologies for interrupting. Headmaster, I'll need to speak to you later, when you have a moment," she said.

"Shall I find you in your lab, Dr. Hunter?" Snape asked.

"Yes," she said, exiting with a swish of her turquoise robe.

After her exit, Snape returned his gaze to Parse Winder. He cleared his throat. "Well, from an official standpoint, I think I have enough information to write my report on this investigation. I find it unlikely that I will investigate further, unless you feel that a full investigation, including public testimony, is needed, Mr. Ames."

Ethinian Ames regarded his daughter darkly. "I think no such further investigation is warranted at this time. I'll have words with Janiss myself." He turned, smirking, to the Headmaster. "Sorry for the trouble, Professor Snape. Janiss, I think the better apology would be coming from you."

Janiss hung her head and muttered "Sorry, Professor Snape."

"Apology accepted, Miss Ames," he said, eyeing the young woman briefly, then turning his piercing gaze to Winder.

"That being said, I'll need increase my level of oversight here at the school, Headmaster, only as a precaution. The public will expect some kind of response after that lurid story. Hypatia and I can surely find time in our schedules to look in on things, perhaps weekly, starting in the spring term." Snape's look suggested that he disagreed with this notion, but Winder only smiled. "Just a friendly visit. I'm sure you'll be able to find time for us."

"No doubt I can," Snape said darkly.

"Well, then," Winder said brightly, slapping his knees and standing. "That should wrap this up. Deputy Alexander and I have a great deal to do, so we'll be off." He then turned to Mr. Ames, pumping his hand in his powerful handshake. "Pleasure to meet you, sir, despite the circumstances. Carry on, all." He exited, followed by Hypatia, who took one last glance as Snape before shutting the door firmly.

The tiny wizard jumped to his feet. "Unless there's anything more, I'd be happy to escort you both to Hogsmeade and then escort Miss Ames back to her house, sir," he said, gesturing towards the door.

Mr. Ames followed Flitwick and Janiss to the door and down the stairs, turning to give Snape one last sneer before he stepped onto the spiral marble staircase and rode down out of sight.

After finalizing the mountain of official paperwork with Minerva, it was late in the afternoon. Classes were over, the students now in the library, common rooms, or studying in the Great Hall. A few hardier souls were outside in the mid-December wind, bundled up against the stiff breezes coming in over the lake.

Snape headed down the empty stairs and corridors to the Potions lab the dungeons to find out what Hunter was so agitated about. He stood for a moment, observing her, preparing for the moments ahead. At last, he cleared his throat as he entered the room.

"Good evening, Dr. Hunter. Was there something you needed to tell me," he asked slowly, his double-meaning clear to her. She regarded him with a strange look that he hadn't seen on her face before. Not unhappy to see him, but certainly an attenuated countenance.

"Yes, Severus. Firstly, I need to apologize for bursting into your office unannounced. I should not have...taken advantage of our relationship and supposed that I could come in without your invitation." She looked at him almost defiantly as she waited for his reply.

"Apology accepted," her replied with no emotion. "Now, what drove you to make such a dramatic entrance?"

Now her face took on more animation. "My Scorpion Venom is missing, Severus." She gestured towards the Licensed Ingredients storage cabinet. "I was getting out other ingredients for our research this weekend and I noticed it was missing."

His face now took on a mixture of concern and puzzlement. "The two locks were fastened?"

"Yes."

"And you'd put Charms on it, as well?"

"Yes, of course. Two, in fact."

"And no one else knew what the counter-charms were?"

"No, not even you," she said, with a small glimmer of a smile that dissipated quickly under his gaze.

"I'll begin a search by the staff and make an announcement at dinner for the students. It's unlikely, if a student removed it, that they know how dangerous it is."

"I wonder if it could be someone on the staff, Severus. Who else could determine the counter-charms?" she wondered aloud.

Snape looked at her with reproach. "The staff here has either demonstrated their loyalty or been hand-picked by me. You should be very careful about casting aspersions, Professor Hunter."

His icy tone and formality informed her well that this conversation was not going well. But she needed to proceed. She took two more breaths before speaking.

"Of course, it may very well have been a skilled student or an intruder of some kind," she noted. "But there is more that I wanted to talk with you about."

"No doubt," he replied. "But our first priority needs to be finding that venom and securing the school. I don't need to tell you what a danger that represents, especially to students who may not be aware of its potency and lack of an antidote. Students generally believe a bezoar can save them from anything, despite being instructed otherwise. I'll need to organize a school-wide search. We can talk later."

With that, he turned and walked out in a swish of black robes and the sound of his boot heels landing purposefully on the stones of the dungeon hall. Hunter watched him go, unable to shake her feelings of dread.


	22. Chapter 22: Muffliato

**Good day, readers and THANK YOU for your kind reviews. Feeling all warm and fuzzy. Lucky me, because Morgan and Severus aren't getting that feeling lately... DN**

Hermione read Wednesday morning's edition of the Daily Prophet with dread, despite the fact that the story she was reading was on the upper half of page 3.

 _More Trouble for the Headmaster of Hogwarts_

 _Has Severus Snape been careless about mixing up Love Potions again? The photo below was taken at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry earlier this week. The student, Janiss Ames, is new this year, a transfer from the Salem School in the United States. Despite a reputation for excellence in Potions, she found herself alone in detention with the Headmaster. Did the wily professor take advantage of their time alone or was Miss Ames under the influence of a Love Potion? No one seems to know for sure. But one man is determined that this never happens again._

 _Miss Ames' father, Ethinian Ames, arrived the next day in a fit and is threatening to have the Headmaster removed. "He'll rue the day he took advantage of Janiss's innocence," he is quoted as saying. "No family should ever have to endure such a breach of trust." In his own defence, Severus Snape has said nothing to this reporter. Others, however, have not been so quiet. Hermione Granger, one of the top students in the "8th" year at Hogwarts, has loudly and repeatedly insisted on Snape's innocence. Given that she may need the Headmaster's recommendation to be admitted to Witches and Wizards College, this statement does not come without a conflict of interest. Others are not so charitable. A student who wished not to be named shared the belief that Snape is now involved with one or more of the female Hogwart's staff and that this may be an attempt to foment jealousy among them. An official Ministry investigation through the Department of Magical Education found no wrongdoing on the part of the Headmaster, but sealed the report in consideration of the reputation for the student involved. That finding leaves this investigative reporter undeterred._

 _The most likely target of the Potions Master's affection is the new Potions Mistress, Dr. Morgan Hunter (see previous reporting from September 22nd of this year). Having joined the staff this year from the United States, she had been making the most of her one-year appointment with a speaking tour and extensive teaching and research, most often in the company of Severus Snape. But who is this mystery woman? The Daily Prophet has taken on the task of finding out and the story is shocking._

 _Ostensibly coming to Hogwarts at the invitation of a school in desperate need of additional staff, she may, instead, be fleeing troubles at home. In addition to being sacked from the Sedona School (for reasons the tight-lipped staff would not reveal), she is now embroiled in a lawsuit with her brother-in-law, who alleges that she murdered his brother, her former husband. Although she was exonerated of the charge, asserting that his untimely death was the result of an unfortunate accident, unanswered questions remain. Her husband, Phillipus Alden, was extremely wealthy thanks to some very fortunate investments in mineral fields near Sedona energy vortices. Dr. Hunter, who came from rather modest means, inherited the fortune after a mere 7 years of (childless) marriage. Phillipus' brother alleges that the brothers were in business together and that at least half belongs to him, according to the text of the suit. He further alleges that, in fact, Morgan Hunter is a criminal who should have her assets seized and be put in prison. And who is that brother-in-law? None other than Ethinian Ames, the father of the unfortunate girl who now finds herself immeshed in the (love?) triangle._

Hermione looked up to the staff table, she knew things had taken a turn for the worse. Both the Headmaster and Dr. Hunter were absent.

Hunter returned to the dungeons in the morning, wondering if Severus would still be locked inside, not answering her knock like the night before. The odor emanating from under the door had been unlike anything she'd smelled before, metallic and sour, but with some floral notes, too. Was he making some poison she was unfamiliar with? To poison whom? Her? Ethinian? She vowed to be more careful in accepting food and drink in the future, being sure to thoroughly observe and smell whatever was on offer before consuming. If there was anything on offer.

She needed to talk about Ethinian, to give things the right context. Whoever had written the article had gotten the details right, but had implied only the worst, just as they had when the two of them had been in the forest at the equinox. In remembering that night yet again, the midnight bluebells all around, she remembered why she was down in the dungeons when she had not class this morning. She squared her shoulders, drew herself up to her full height, and marched forward.

She found Snape in his classroom, writing out what appeared to be the end-of-term exam for the sixth years. Snape said nothing to Hunter as she walked forward and seemed unsurprised to see her, though she typically did not interrupt his teaching work, being busy enough with her own. She shut the door behind her and muttered a Colloportus charm, then a Muffliato charm.

Once the door clicked shut behind her, she said softly "I take it you've read today's paper," taking a copy out of her robe, still open to the article in question, her hand shaking enough to shake the ink off the paper.

"As I do every day. Interesting news today," he said diffidently, keeping his eyes on his exam, which he continued to write. The sound of the quill scratching over the parchment grated on her ears, like the sound of trapped bowtruckles.

"You can't possibly believe what they are implying, Severus. Look at what they said about you. Those things weren't true, so why would you believe the rest of this garbage?" she said, shaking the paper in his face, then turning sharply to toss it on the floor and set fire to it in frustration. The sparks flew from her wand from the force of her delivery, then subsided. They both watched it burn in silence, as the flames consumed it, leaving only the greasy emanation of burned ink.

"Well, Morgan, why don't you tell me the truth?" he said silkily, sitting back, his arms across his chest.

She spun back to face him, her expression dark. "I have to defend myself to you? That's an insult. Perhaps you should explain yourself first, if that's the game you want to play."

No rising to her accusation, he replied evenly. "I have no interest in _games_ at all. It's you who have sought me out. Tell me what you came to say, then feel free to ask me any questions that you may have."

She paced exasperatedly across the classroom, hands clutched behind her back as though she was keeping them from being used as fists. Finally, she stood opposite him, anger flashing in her eyes. "Ok, then. Here's the truth. I was sacked by Sedona, but not for the reasons the Prophet is implying. My husband, Phillipus, died in September of last year, not from murder but from a fall while on a night hike to a mountaintop. He was making a starmap for the unaided eye, a hand-drawn masterpiece." Here she paused, her head in her hands. Her voice changed, becoming less angry, more wistful. "He had wonderful eyes, sharp eyes, but clumsy feet. He never could dance worth a darn. They found him the next morning at the bottom of the cliff, his quill still in his hand, but his wand at the top with his drawings. He had set it aside and thus had no way to save himself." She turned away, staring into the torches along the wall. "Everything that could be done was done, but nothing worked. I was utterly despondent. The school gave me the remainder of the autumn term off to mourn, but when I got back in the spring, my heart wasn't in it." She turned, but her eyes were closed with the effort at speaking. "I stopped my research, missed classes, and was generally useless when I was in class. A few of the better students tried to lead the class, but they had accidents of their own, and parents began to complain. I could have resigned, but I couldn't even work up the energy to do that. So I forced the Sedona staff to make the move to get rid of me."

She opened her eyes, stopped speaking for a moment, looking into the dark shadows, thinking of the pain in the face of her mentor, as he had to be the one to break the news.

"So, the Daily Prophet got a few thing rights, at least. What else is correct?" Snape asked, still staring at her with a directness she didn't care for. She now looked him in the eyes as she spoke.

"Ethinian Ames is my brother-in-law, Janiss my niece, though I hadn't met her before now. I didn't even know her name. Phillipus and Ethinian weren't close, and certainly not in business together. Phillipus said Ethinian was a useless wastrel and horribly jealous of his good fortune, especially because he had invited him to invest with him. He had refused, saying it was a hoax. I knew it wasn't and I advised Phillipus of that. Ethinian may claim I married Phillipus for his money, but the truth is we married before he hit it big. Yes, he had more money than me, enough to have some spare to invest, but nothing of great note."

"So the lawsuit is real?"

"Yes. Ethinian spent all the money he had, as well as his wife's, and now wants to go after mine. But the suit has no merit."

"And if you were to remarry, your husband would be first in line to claim your assets, securing them away from your pesky, jealous brother-in-law. Ideally a husband with a fortune of his own to add to yours," Snape said with a sneer.

Hunter looked up, startled out of her self-pity. "What are alluding to, Severus? That I am using you, that I am interested in your money?" she spit out. "You can't be serious."

"It would certainly explain your attempts to lure me in the forest, your interest in spending so much time engaged in research in the lab, your stalking me at the Halloween ball…" At this, she walked forward, shaking with rage.

"How dare you accuse me of such duplicity! So that's the real reason you invaded my mind, to see if my 'feelings' were real. You think I'm in this for your money." She paced the width of the classroom, then turned, willing herself not to draw her wand and send a Binding Hex his way.

"You'd be a fool if you were, as I haven't gotten any money. The rumors of the great Snape fortune are only that, my dear Dr. Hunter," he said, still sitting at his desk, tapping his fingers on the exam parchment. "That's one of the many lies the Prophet has published about me. Just before my trial, I gave everything I had, at that moment and in perpetuity, to Hogwarts, just to keep the money-grubbers at the Ministry from profiting from my sentencing. That's the real reason the Ministry keeps such close tabs on Hogwarts. Not out of some altruistic desire for the betterment of the students nor to make sure no one is using Curses and poisons as a punishment any more. There are some who are just waiting to find a reason, any reason, to put me out on the street. That's why I 'can't afford to leave the school' for your speaking tour. I simply can't afford it."

He expected her to leave in that instant, knowing she now had nothing to gain. Why put up with such a barrage of accusations with no hope of gain? Why bargain and wheedle for nothing? He expected her to spit on him, possibly worse, given the state she was now in. He made sure his wand was close at hand. He had never seen her this angry before. He was in unchartered territory for what she might do in a fit of temper. Her first husband was dead, after all.

She clutched at the back of a chair as though preparing to throw it, rocking on her feet, moving her weight from one foot to the other. He remained on alert, ready for her to spring at him.

"You really couldn't afford it? It was the money, you couldn't afford it," she said, looking at him for confirmation. He nodded slowly, a smirk growing on his face as she focused on his money, just as he thought she would.

"I have nothing. My home, my money, my books, even my salary, all went directly to Hogwarts. I don't even own the clothes on my back. So if you think you can play me for a fool to enrich yourself, the joke is on you," he said with grim satisfaction.

"No, Severus, the joke is on you," she said, now releasing the chair, coming back to the desk. "I always assumed you didn't want to come, that you just hated the high profile, public part of it. Or worse, that you didn't want to be seen with me. I don't want your money, Severus. I don't want my brother-in-law to get my fortune, because he's an undeserving scoundrel and had no use for Phillipus when he was alive. Otherwise, I don't care what happens to the money." She paused, trying to think of the best way forward. She was deeply hurt that he didn't trust her, that he thought she had ulterior motives. But considering it from his standpoint, the situation probably did appear suspicious. All those times she'd delayed telling him things now haunted her. If she had, perhaps she'd be in a different position now. Few others could understand the attraction she felt for him, perhaps he felt the same way. She decided to be as honest as she could.

"Janiss is a pawn, Severus, I'm sure of it. Ethinian isn't above using his daughter to forward his plans. Ethinian had nothing to do with Phillipus for the entire time I knew him, until he was dead and the inheritance was in question. He transferred Janiss here for a reason and that reason was to get to me. He tried to frame you, Severus, using her to drive us apart, to get you out of the way." She was agitated now, pondering his nerve. She had to get back to her real purpose. "Your fortune, or lack thereof, means nothing to me, Severus. I came to Hogwarts to escape the pain I was feeling in Sedona. To start over. When I first met you, I was terrified."

At this, Snape smiled darkly, remembering their first meeting.

"I was worried that I wouldn't be able to function, that I still wouldn't find any motivation to teach or work. But working with you, being with you, it's been a revelation. Not just trying to avoid your irritation and disgust, but to really work together, share ideas, share a vision. Money be damned, Severus. It changes nothing for me." She paused, holding herself up by a nearby lab bench. "So, now my question to you. What do we really have here, Severus? You denied our relationship to Ethinian and did nothing to defend me. Why?"

At this, Snape rose and walked slowly towards her. "I had thought you were a capable witch. I wouldn't insult you by treating you like a damsel in distress. Is that your technique, Dr. Hunter, to place yourself in a situation and lure in a defender, as though you were my property?" He continued to approach until he was dangerously close. "Death Eaters can become profoundly possessive of their property. Was that what you were expecting from me?"

Hunter, though small, held her ground, not taking a single step back, despite his towering over her in malice.

"Perhaps you are the type who likes to be captive?" He stepped back and raised his wand, ropes launching forth from it that bound her shoulder to hip. Unexpectedly, she showed no sign of surprise or distress, only casting him a confused and accusing stare. With a small twitch, the ropes were cast off as though they were toilet tissue. It took some effort for Snape not to register his surprise at her ability and lack of fear.

"Severus, I know this is difficult for you. I have no way to prove my innocence, only my word," she said with steely resolve.

He was waiting for the clingy desperation to set in. "Words are cheap, Morgan, as we both know. Perhaps it is best if we both give this unfortunate situation time to resolve itself."

She regarded him with a mix of sadness and disgust. She was not one to beg, ever.

"Good day, Professor Snape," she said quietly, then turned and left without another word.

By now, few reactions on her part could have surprised him, but this one did. He sat looking towards the door until he realized that she wasn't coming back for another round. She hadn't jinxed, hexed, or stunned him. No tears, no begging.

Nevertheless, he assured himself that he'd successfully avoided being taken for a fool. For indeed, that's what he must have been to believe a witch like that could be attracted to a poor, sallow dungeon-dweller like himself.

Best to end it now, before they became too attached. Had this been allowed to continue, by the end of the school year she might have some kind of breakdown, made some kind of scene, given her history. In the meantime, he considered the impact on her teaching and research, but assumed that she would uphold standards of professionalism. Considering the situation, he was pleased that he hadn't burned the resumes of the other applicants for the Potions Professor position. He might need to send a few communications in only a few short months.

Hunter reached her rooms, having marched the entire length of the castle from the dungeons to the Ravenclaw tower in near record time. For most of the trip, she was far too angry to do any thinking, but now that she was further away from him and closer to her own private space, she began to try to understand what had just happened. Despite all the lies published in the Daily Prophet about himself, he had chosen to believe the worst in her. She regretted not having stunned him, but it was likely that it would have resulted in an well-matched duel and probably a lot of damage to the classroom, right before exams.

In truth, she didn't know what the limits of his temper were. She knew he had once been a Death Eater, which required a certain commitment to violence and aggression, but he had renounced that, hadn't he? She should find out more about that, if she decided she cared to do so.

She sat at her writing desk and considered what to do. She made a list, just as she had so many years ago. But Phillipus had been easy, though she still did the exercise. In his favor, he was kind, funny, supportive, adventurous, handsome. In the lesser column, he had been of modest means then, but she even more so. And he wasn't the world's most ambitious, nor the most brilliant. But she loved him, deeply. She looked forward to starting a family, to living out their lives together. She tried not to cry, but opted to let some tears flow, in order to bring herself back to balance. She brought herself back to the present and started her list.

In Severus' favor, his intelligence, his dark wit.

In the lesser column, his sneer, his lack of trust (in everyone, not just her), his harshness, his criticism.

In his favor, his intensity, his talent.

In the lesser column, his obsessive need for privacy, his complete silence at meals, the way he bullied students, his temper.

In his favor, high standards. It was getting more difficult to find things to put in the "favor" column. But the lesser things kept flowing.

In the lesser column, she didn't know much about his background, didn't know much about his history, didn't know much.

She looked at the paper. The visual balance was clear. He was a maddening, inflexible, taciturn, intense, talented, brilliant, breath-taking wizard. She wadded up the parchment and threw it in the fire, watching it burn brightly, then disappear, up in smoke. It wasn't as simple as the two-column list. Even with Phillipus, the list didn't capture his essence. Most of her friends thought she was settling when they married, that she needed someone with a larger view of himself, but she never agreed. No one made her feel more loved, more supported, more perfect than Phillipus.

Severus made her feel challenged, pushed, like she needed to rise to every occasion, prove herself yet again. She always needed to listen carefully when he spoke, because every word carried meaning and there would be few of them. She had a sounding board for ideas and they were flowing like water, like they used to years ago. She had a willing partner in getting the work done, and an able one. She had someone she knew would be honest with her, even to the point of hurting her feelings. She wasn't one to give up easily. She was willing to do as many as 100 different experiments to improve a potion. But that was potions, not people. How many attempts would she be willing to make here? What would a future look like with him, anyhow? Who knew. She had only few more months to be here before she had to move on. And the future looked bleak, indeed.


	23. Chapter 23: Holiday

**A long holiday weekend has given me the chance to get out all these pieces that I have been working on for so long. Now, with the end of this chapter, I am back into otherwise uncharted territory, having to write completely new materials. Please be patient with me.**

 **I'd also like to thank everyone who's written reviews. They are really motivating. Constructive criticism is welcome, too. Its hard as an author to know if the images you have in your head have translated well on the page. Let me know.**

 **And what far-flung readers I have! Hi, Fiji!**

 **ENJOY! DN**

Hermione had warned him this wasn't a good time to schedule some time with the Headmaster, given the recent events.

"How do you know they broke up?" Ron asked, chewing on his sandwich at lunch the following weekend. "They were never chatty at meals before anyway."

Ginny rolled her eyes as Hermione continued in a tone that might charitably be described as patient. "Right after those horrible articles were published, suddenly Professor Snape and Dr. Hunter weren't holed up in his office every evening after dinner. I haven't seen them take a walk together or even acknowledge each other. That, at least, they used to do at meals."

One of the sixth-year Gryffindors leaned in, over-hearing. "Do you think that means detentions again in potions? I heard Snape wasn't giving detentions anymore."

Everyone agreed it was a real possibility.

But Harry needed to ask to stay over the holidays. During exams the following week, there wouldn't be any time, then the trains showed up and that was that. People simply vanished right after the last exam on Friday. And Harry was motivated. Time alone, to just think and get away from everyone would be a treat. And few people understood the pleasures of being alone better than Severus Snape. In that light, Harry told himself that this was perhaps the best time to see his godfather.

Harry arrived at the Headmaster's office a full 4 minutes early, hoping to be on his good side when he made his proposal. Snape gestured silently to the chair opposite then sat himself, readying a quill and parchment.

"I assume this is regarding your college applications, of which I have received none to approve."

This wasn't where Harry had hoped to begin. He should have known to have started the conversation himself, but he'd hesitated, which allowed Snape to set the tone and direction of the meeting. Already he was feeling off-balance and defensive, and he hadn't yet uttered a word.

"I'm not sure I'm going to college, sir," he replied.

Snape cast him a withering glare. "With your rather mediocre school performance and lack of ambition, I'm not overly surprised. This won't set a good example for the other students. I'll send an owl to Mrs. Weasley and have her straighten you out over the holidays." Snape began to write, barely looking up at Harry. "I assume you'll be going to the Burrow with your girlfriend and her family."

This last jab riled Harry up. "College is pointless and no, I'm not going to the Burrow. I'd rather spend my holiday here."

"There's no need to keep an old man company. I have a lot of work to do, much of which is writing letters of recommendation for more ambitious students, including friends of yours." Harry repressed a dismissive snort, thinking about how the Headmaster's army of elf scribes would be doing most of that work. "And how will Miss Weasley feel about this?"

"She doesn't know yet. No one does."

"And when you tell her, what pitiful excuse will you give? Your hippogriff ate your gift for her?"

"Stop making jokes. I'm breaking it off with Ginny!"

At this last remark, Snape stopped writing and put down his quill. He eyed Harry across the desk, then spoke quietly. "Really? Why? She had distinguished herself by her unusual ability to tolerate you. You'd do well to bind yourself to someone who's more skilled and more ambitious than you, given your habit of squandering opportunities conveniently available to you, given that you lived."

Harry felt heat rising from his neck. "Don't mock me, Severus," he spat out angrily.

Snape's soft voice turned hard. "Don't mock me and this school by throwing aside your education and a witch of above average distinction."

"What's the point of it all? To get some boring job, a house and mortgage, and just live out my years, with people staring at me everywhere I go?"

"That's your complaint, Harry? You are being inexcusably arrogant, yes arrogant, a trait that I was foolish enough to think you'd outgrown. You've defeated the Dark Lord and now you are upset because still being alive and having those around you alive, not having your lives on the line every day, is BORING? And some people stare?"

Harry cut him off. "Severus, stop."

But Snape didn't stop. Instead he stood and grabbed Harry's robes. "Just what were you fighting for? Ginny and the rest of the students were fighting, too. For you." The Headmaster pulled Harry close enough that he could now feel the impact of his saliva on his face. "Can you imagine how she felt, Potter, not knowing where you were, if you were even alive, the school nearly falling apart around her?"

"Stop, now!"

"No, you are my godson, Harry, and I will not stand idly by and allow you, yes allow, I won't allow you to shame yourself and your parents in this way."

"Don't bring my parents into this!"

"They are in 'this' with your every breath, Harry. She gave her life, he did too. Don't waste yours."

"Stop it, shut up!"

Snape's voice got quiet again, but he didn't release Harry's robes. "When have I EVER given up, Harry? You think I'll do so now, because a young wizard is having a brief bout of insanity?"

Snape suddenly released Harry's robes and he collapsed defeatedly in his chair, holding his head in his hands. Snape eyed him with contempt, then strode back behind his desk. He opened a drawer, fished out several pre-printed parchments, and called for Bina, who appeared instantly beside her small writing desk.

"Yes, Headmaster?" she said expectantly, quill at the ready.

Snape handed her parchments, saying "Fill these out for one Harold James Potter and get owls that can fly to Covenhall, Fellbridge, and Cloakreth." Bina set to work.

"What?" said Harry in a daze.

"You'll be applying for Auror training, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potions Master, though I doubt you'll get in to that. Regardless of any recommendations you may get, there is a practical element to the application. You would be unlikely to exceed many others."

"You can't just apply for me!" Harry shot back.

Snape didn't even bother to look up. "You will regain your sanity at some point. And when you do, it is possible that you may even have at least one acceptance." He extended his hand as Bina finished the first form, then presented the application to Harry.

"I won't sign."

"You will." Snape drew his wand smoothly and handed Harry a quill. Involuntarily, Harry's hand clutched the quill. He watched wordlessly as his hand formed his signature on the first, then the second and third applications. Bina accepted the signed parchments and withdrew.

"What about the essays?"

The Headmaster now lowered his wand and walked behind his desk. Harry couldn't believe that he was giving in, and indeed, he was not. He approached a cabinet full of whirring magical instruments and drew out a chain with a small hourglass within it. The Timeturner. Good grief.

Hours later, his wrists aching, Harry handed back the three application essays he'd managed to spew out ("Reflect on your life to date. Of what accomplishment are you most proud and why?" "Think of the witches and wizards in your life. Who has inspired you the most and how?" "Gold, power, happiness, or gold and power?").

"The letters of recommendation, sir?" he asked tiredly.

"I'll send those at a later date when my mood is more favorable toward you. Now, go back to your studying and packing your things for your holiday which will be spent with the Weasleys. You will come to see me before deciding to cut things off with Miss Weasley. I won't have you making rash decisions, Harry. Even if you might later change your mind, she won't. She has already done more waiting around than a young lady should be asked to do. She will move on, and there will be any number of young, talented wizards waiting for their chance."

Harry was now questioning his own sanity for having ever asked Severus Snape to be his godfather. He must have been mad at that moment. Just as he mustered the strength to stand, Snape sat down wearily in his chair, looking pale and worn.

"Sit, Harry," he said. Not as a command, but more as an invitation. Harry was still angry and frustrated, but was tired enough to do so without complaint.

Snape leaned back, holding his forehead as though by pressing his head he might hold back a migraine. He let forth with a strong exhalation, then sat forward again, regarding Harry. Not warmly, exactly, but less aggressively than before.

"Your parents would have liked Ginny very much, Harry. She's no wilting Amanita."

Harry nodded mutely, having no idea how to respond.

"They would want what is best for you. What they wouldn't have given for a boring, long life."

"Yes, sir."

"This is not the time for 'yes, sir' Harry," Snape replied.

Harry was confused. "Alright, alright. Severus."

Snape continued to observe Harry until the silence grew too large, then stood. Harry followed. "Go study for your exams, Harry. I'll send your applications tonight and the letters of recommendation over the holidays. I may not see you outside class, Harry. Happy Christmas." He extended a long, pale hand, which Harry shook.

"Thank you, sir, I mean, Severus. Happy Christmas, to you, as well," he said. He turned away, but not before taking in a note of pain in the Headmaster's countenance. He walked slowly back to the library, where everyone was doing their final cramming before the first exams began the next day, starting with Potions.

The Headmaster sat silently for longer than he'd intended, exhausted from the Timeturner, as well as the rest of the conversation. He held the golden object in his hands and pondered the scope of its power. He rose, and returned the item to its cabinet. Standing before the array of magical instruments, he withdrew a deeply-cut crystal vial with a silver stopper, filled with a swirling blue liquid and tied with a forest green ribbon. Morgan's Christmas gift, now no longer needed or wanted. Not long ago, he'd have smashed the vial against the stone floor, maybe followed by the wave of a wand and some pyrotechnics. He would have been angry then, ready for a duel, ready to destroy a room or even an entire house to manifest his rage and resentment.

Now, though, he rolled the vial between his fingers, considered its contents, then returned it to its cabinet. It would be a shame to waste it. He prepared his exam papers, cleared his desk, and returned to the dungeons, ready for a sufficient rest to ready himself for the final week between him and a quiet holiday. Sleep was elusive, despite his exhaustion. Waking visions of Morgan and their walks around the lake at last faded into dreams haunted by a witch with a long braid, always with her back to him and getting further and further out of reach.

The quiet of the holidays was immense. Once exams were completed and the students departed, the staff was not far behind. Traditionally, the staff left immediately and returned early to grade the exams before students returned in January and this year was no exception. The Headmaster, too, let the exams sit.

As he read and studied, his mind frequently wandered to Hunter. Where had she gone? Home to Sedona to the sun and heat of the desert? To London to enjoy the shops? The snow in the windows and in the stores themselves was charming, as were the glittering trees. He still found feeling these kinds of emotions intriguing, having been blunted for so long by remorse and self-loathing.

He summoned Bina, who had the holiday greetings already written, needing only a signature. As much as he detested such shallow expressions of amity on his own part, he recognized the importance of the formality that ran against the will of Severus Snape, but was important to execute the will of the Headmaster of Hogwarts, to whatever goodwill such a formality might generate on behalf of the school. He continued to sign each parchment with his full signature and a small Beneyule charm well into the night, stopping only for dinner, He looked up at the portrait of Dumbledore, in which Albus was snoring. He resisted the urge to cast a spell in his general direction and wondered yet again what the old Wizard's plan could possibly have been to curse him thus.

Thinking of the Christmases of his childhood did nothing to dispel his sense of desolation. Christmases of his youth were merely a light reprieve of the regular abuse to a kind of more tolerable neglect, at least until his father was in his holiday drink. He spent a lot of time outside, walking aimlessly, underdressed and freezing, but it was better than the alternative.

Once he was older, coming home from Hogwarts for the holidays, he had smuggled home potions from school, sleeping potions. He considered potions to reduce his father's viciousness and anger, but preferred his not being conscious to his company, regardless of the improved mood. His mother, for reasons he never would understand, had never used her magic to bind or control him. Why she stayed, no one would ever now know. Perhaps, like so many deluded witches and Muggle women before her, she labored under the absurd impression that she was at fault, that she brought it on herself; or, more absurd still, that she could change him, if only she tried hard enough, cared enough. Muggle marriages were not a perpetual binding, like Magical ones. She could have sought a divorce, and supported herself in any number of ways. Magical people living in the Muggle world had done so for centuries, though under deep cover. What Magical talent she may have had, she seemed to be utterly unconnected to the Magical world. She never mentioned other witches or wizards that she knew. Other than Lily Evans, he had never met another Magical child before attending Hogwarts.

He recalled again how much he resented his mother for allowing his father to treat both of them like curses on him. The number of times he was prepared to face charges on the Use of Underage Magic was countless, but his need to not be expelled from Hogwarts was so great as to keep him at least partially in line, to keep him from truly lashing out as he was so often tempted to do. Even humiliation at the hands of James Potter and his little gang of thugs wasn't worse than the thought of being expelled and sent back to finish his adolescence at Spinner's End. That was one of the beauties of Potions, the quality that first attracted him to this art of Magic. The use of them didn't register. Only the making. Student potion samples were typically discarded, so it had been easy to pocket a few vials for transport home. You just had to know which student had any talent, if any. And for his father, he didn't particularly care about the toxic side effects of a poorly-executed formulation, only the effectiveness of the stupor. Slughorn never noticed any missing samples of a sleeping draught. Snape wondered if Slughorn would have missed Paralytic solution or any of the number of poisons that contained controlled substances from the locked and charmed cabinet. He hadn't tried at the time, not wanting to risk expulsion from Hogwarts or a trial, either in Magical or Muggle courts. He wondered if his mother would have testified for the prosecution or the defence at such a trial. The fact that this was a question was as much an offence to him as her testifying against him might have been.

After he graduated, he visited once. Now of age and fully qualified, he smashed a few glasses with his wand as a threat and invited his mother to leave and live with him, but she refused. He was incensed at her decision. He had thought to tell his father to never lay a hand on her again under threat of his retaliation, but if she wanted to stay, wanted to stay with that beast of a man instead of her own son, she could face her own fate. He never returned to Spinner's End until his inheritance, pitiful as it was.

Ah, the holidays. So many pleasant memories, thought Snape with a grimace, noting the emptiness of the school around him only mirrored the emptiness within him.


	24. Chapter 24: New Year

**Happy New Year, readers. It's been difficult to find time to keep writing. It's been a difficult time. Trying to keep looking forward. Writing helps, but only so much. I hope this brings you some enjoyment. I hope you find the time to offer a review or comment. I have more written to follow this, I just need to sew the seams together and make sure everything matches up. There's a lot going on at Hogwarts, too. Dark times. Enjoy and let me know what you think. DN**

The full onslaught of winter arrived in January. Winds from the north drove snow up past the windows of the ground floor and darkened even more so the dungeons, blotting out what little light might trickle down through high windows. The upper floors enjoyed more light from the reflections off the unbroken drifts, blinding when it was sunny, though that was rare. Heavy clouds obscured the skies more often than not, making already-short days seem even shorter.

Quidditch matches were nearly cancelled, but Madame Hooch persisted, despite all of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Beaters needing treatment for frostbite. Madame Pomfrey made it her business to be on hand at every match and even some practices to administer treatment as quickly as possible, though stores of Boronitride paste were beginning to run low. Given the mineral nature of the thermal paste and the Potions Mistress's skills with mineral-based formulae, Poppy decided to ask Dr. Hunter to make the next batch. Professor Snape seemed unusually busy these days already, rarely coming out from his labs except to teach since the beginning of the year.

The time off had been good for the students, offering yet another chance to further discover their new normal following the horrors of the previous years. Families had taken great joy in their reunions with loved ones, feeling more acutely than ever the value of love, kinship, and friendship bonds. Now back at school, students were ready to get back to the pleasant rhythms of meals, classes, homework, and friends. The end of school days was still far enough off to be comfortably ignored for the time being by the 7th and 8th years, but the deadlines for university application scrolls were coming soon, including teacher recommendations. Those could not be ignored.

Harry had found himself enjoying the holidays more than he had predicted. Despite the full house at the Burrow, with everyone there, he had managed to have a few days of quiet when Ron and Hermione had gone out on walks together and Ginny was arguing with George about the national Quidditch teams. Fred's absence was gaping hole for everyone, but Mrs. Weasley's joy at having her family together again, and having that joy extended to himself, made Harry grateful that his godfather had been categorical about his coming here. Though it was difficult to wrap his brain around the notion, Snape may have been right about going to the Burrow for the holidays. Though the Weasleys welcomed him as their son, they seemed to sense the healing value of his having time on his own. Had he been at school, he would have had no one to spend time with when he was ready for that, not to mention the guilt and the need to explain to disappointed friends. Persistent friends who never gave up on things.

And Ginny. Snape was probably right about Ginny, too, which surprised him even more. Strange to get what might be good advice on relationships from someone so demonstrably bad at them. Maybe his relationship with Ginny wouldn't last forever, maybe she would get tired of him and figure out that Neville really was the better man. Or perhaps Cormac McLaggen. Terry Boot. Michael Corner. The list really could get quite long. But for now, he was taken in by her kindness and strength and her understanding about being alone sometimes. Perhaps her never having had a moment's peace her entire life made her sympathetic to those who could use a break from the chaos. He tried to give her all the space she needed, as well, leaving her be and not teasing about how much time she, Hermione, Luna and the other girls spent in their dorms away from the common room.

Hunter returned from London several days in advance of the start of classes, on a similar schedule as the rest of the staff. She planned to fill her days with grading, writing up student reports, and preparing for the spring term ahead. This helped her avoid thinking too much about Severus, at least until the evenings when she set aside her work and went up to dinner. She knew he had returned, as indicated by flickering light under the door to his lab, but she never saw him out and about.

She'd been hopeful in accepting Parse's invitation to spend the holiday in London at first, supposing it would be a much-needed diversion to stave off her loneliness. And indeed, at first, it was. Her room at the Copper Cauldron Inn had been warm and welcoming, with a lovely view of Diagon Alley and all the shop windows, decorated with magical toys, glittering clothes, sweets and chocolates, and sparkling jewels, all accompanied by a different recreation of a winter snowstorm. The witches and wizards in the street were dressed in holiday robes trimmed in pine cones, holly leaves, feathers, and fur, some of which was still living and enjoying the views as much as the wearers. The children, including so many too young for Hogwarts, squealed and pointed to the toys they wanted most. A training broom; boomerang balls; dollies that changed outfits with a wave of a junior wand (some assembly required); dollhouses outfitted with crystal balls, cauldrons, and magical gardens; stuffed dragons that spit real fire; models of hippogriffs; and books about famous witch and wizard adventures. Watching the happy families made her ache to join them. She suddenly began to feel old, that the years were passing her by. Her future was empty, yet again. She didn't see anyone she knew, and remained at the window until the shops began to close and everyone went home.

Parse had been an altogether too-attentive host, having a dinner or drinks planned for each of the five nights she was there, always with someone important, many of whom she'd met previously. The Minister for Justice Bruna Fresenius and her family, the Minister for Magical Sport and Games, Deputy Minister for Education Alexander (who glared at her and Parse in stony silence the entire meal), or the Deputy Assistant to the Minister of Magic Percy somebody, who told stories about the challenges of international magical cooperation in exhausting detail for nearly two hours. Parse had dropped hints to the Deputy Assistant that she might be a useful addition to the Department of Potions and Poisons, despite her never having expressed an iota of interest in a ministry job. She smiled broadly and asked a few follow-up questions, once it occurred to her that at the end of the year, she might need a job, any job, and she would be unwise to burn any bridges at this point. The effort required to appear reasonably cheerful and interested was exhausting and not at all what she had hoped for over the holiday break.

It was the time after the dinners and receptions made her most uncomfortable. Winder invariably offered to walk her back to the inn, casting aside her protestations that she was fine to get back on her own. Then he seemed unwilling to let her go upstairs to her room, waving for drinks in the tavern in the lobby before she could depart. Although she made it clear she was tired and ready to end the evening, he would order a second round. Finally, courteous or not, she excused herself and all but fled up the stairs to the sanctuary of her room. After waving her wand and bringing up the blaze in the fireplace, she'd collapse in the overstuffed armchair. But once decompressed, the loneliness and uncertainty of her future overcame her. She'd spend the remainder of her waking time rethinking what had happened, lamenting the present, and foreboding the times to come.

Once she got back to the school, what would things be like? It was an acrimonious break, not simply an agreement to step away. Accusations and betrayal that still stung. It wouldn't be like before their evening in the forest, with cordial professionalism. It would surely be cold and stiff. She could handle that for the most part, needing little guidance for her daily teaching. What advice she needed, she could easily get from McGonagall or the other staff members. She tended not to get involved in detailed school issues, knowing that her time was short.

But their research collaboration, what would become of that? Their fall work was finished, the papers written and sent. Perhaps there would be notices of acceptance upon her return. With that work fully finished, would he care to continue their collaboration, or would she be working on her own?

Now the thought of digging through endless arrays of potions with minor variations left her cold. All she could picture was getting out of those dungeons as much as possible, not spending more time there. And what was the point, anyway? Suddenly, the prospect of more research and testing seemed absurd. The students would probably be relieved to get their time back, especially once N.E.W.T.s started to get closer after the spring holiday in April. Yes, it was probably better for everyone if she set aside research for this term. Four publications were sufficient. Who was going to read them, anyway?

Now back at Hogwarts, she was glad that she'd already put together her lesson plan for the spring term at the beginning of the year. Getting through grading the exams was more than enough for her; writing up the reports for McGonagall, exhausting. Once she'd finished, the Friday before the resumption of classes, she began to consider having the former research volunteers help with some of her teaching. The younger students were doing well and it would be good experience for her researchers, she reasoned.

Ginny cast a furtive glance at the staff table in late February as she chewed contemplatively on her pork chop. Neville, sitting next to her, shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

"What are you staring at, Ginny?" he whispered out of the side of his mouth. "It's getting a bit obvious, if you're trying to be subtle." He kept his voice low, but couldn't keep the curiosity out of it.

Ginny returned her attention to the plate in front of her, taking a forkful of cauliflower before responding. "I was just trying to think of the last time I saw Professor Snape outside the classroom. He rarely misses a chance to glare at people."

Neville looked thoughtful, then concerned. "You're right. McGonagall makes all the school announcements now. He hasn't growled at us about N.E.W.T.s even once since we got back, though her lectures about how important they are is motivating enough." He took another bite of noodles, then continued. "But with her, it seems less likely that she'd use you to test a batch of poison if you made the school look bad by reaching 'less than your full potential.'"

Harry grinned at Neville's growling impression of Snape issuing one of his characteristic threats about doing poorly on exams and mulled over the thought of his lack of forcefulness silently as he took another bite of pork. Despite what challenges holding two positions had meant, Snape had always been both a dedicated teacher and Headmaster. Dumbledore as Headmaster had given up teaching and being a Head of House, but Snape retained both, though he now split teaching potions with Dr. Hunter. That must have been a difficult concession for him to have made, Harry realized. And with the recovery of the school after the war, there must be plenty going on that required his attention. Maybe he had, in fact, bitten off more than even he could chew, Harry thought. His research had ceased and Legilimency and Occlumency lessons had not resumed in the new year. And now McGonagall, also a Head of House and teacher, was taking on more as Deputy Headmistress.

Once back at the Gryffindor common room, they gathered around the fireplace, one of the few cozy places in the tower. Ron pulled Harry aside before they sat down, his brow furrowed.

"I think she's mad at me, but I can't figure out why. I got her flowers AND chocolate frogs for Valentine's day without even needing to be reminded. Even wrapped 'em. Maybe I shouldn't have eaten the first one, but she laughed at the time. And she's seemed fine until tonight. I can't figure it out. Any ideas, Harry? Ginny say anything to you?" He looked more anxious than Harry could recall at any time this year, even when he was struggling to balance his work cataloguing the new books in the library with Madame Pince (still) and studying for end-of-term exams.

Harry stole a furtive glance at Hermione, then turned back to Ron and shook his head thoughtfully. "I don't think it's you, Ron. It's something else. Let's just ask." Ron looked appalled at this idea, and followed Harry, being careful to stand behind him in case Hermione was ready to draw her wand.

Harry approached slowly but deliberately, seating himself on the sofa beside her. "Something wrong, Hermione? You seem really quiet tonight." Ron quivered slightly, still standing, a bit behind Harry, which amused him. Hermione was a skilled witch, but Ron had faced down the Dark Lord and fought bravely in the war. Habits of thinking are difficult to break, he reasoned.

Hermione remained sitting, looking intently into the fire, her elbows on her knees, hands clasped. Then she turned. "You'll think I'm crazy, but I'm really worried about Professor Snape."

Harry turned to look at Ron, whose eyebrows were raised.

She frowned and looked back to the fire as though expecting some response from it. "I knew you'd both think I'm being strange."

"No," protested Harry, leaning in next to her. "Tell me what you're thinking."

She kept her eyes on the fire, but spoke volumes with her hands. "Look at what's happened since he and Dr. Hunter had their falling out before Christmas. He spent the holiday here at Hogwarts alone and has barely been seen out of the dungeons since. In class, I'd swear he's spent so much time down there, he's even paler than he was before." She began to count points out on her fingers. "He doesn't seem to care about teaching much. He doesn't lecture or berate anyone who fouls up in class and he hasn't given a single detention since Janiss's and it's been six weeks since the beginning of term. He has McGonagall do all the Headmaster duties. Has he done even one thing more than the bare minimum this term?"

Harry shifted on the sofa and nodded contemplatively. Everything she noted was true. He'd pestered them more about N.E.W.T.s in six days in December, and he hadn't mentioned them at all in six weeks since the new year.

Ron considered mentioning how pleased he was not to be constantly harangued, but at the last second, thought the better of it, closed his open mouth, and remained in silent agreement.

Ginny, Luna, and Neville wandered in and joined the group, pulling up well-worn chairs, concern on their faces reflecting the seriousness of the mood there.

"What's up?" Ginny asked.

"Hermione's worried about Snape," Ron noted, finding himself now brave enough to sit on Hermione's other side, given the larger group that was forming.

Luna nodded with no sense of surprise. "Me, too," she said. "It's like he doesn't care anymore. No matter what you might say about his teaching style, at least he seemed to care about us doing well. Whether it was for our betterment or his maintaining a reputation as an effective teacher, that wasn't always clear, but at least he pushed us."

Ginny leaned forward. "Yeah, and we haven't even had a lesson in Occlumency and Legilimency since last term. I'm not buying his claim that there's not a N.E.W.T. for that and it leaves us more time to study for the other N.E.W.T.s. Since when has he cared if we had too much homework?"

Ron grimaced. "Blimey, I'd almost forgotten about that. Ten lessons last term just gave us a taste."

Luna added "That was starting to be my favorite class. What a cool skill."

They all sighed collectively, remembering how interesting and challenging the lessons had been, a true departure from the other subjects which had become somewhat routine over the years.

After a few moments with the only sound being the crackle of the flames in the fireplace, Neville spoke. "When someone stops caring about things that they used to spend all their time doing and withdraws from everyone else, those are warning signs."

"Warning signs of what?" Ron asked.

Harry knew before Neville replied what he was going to say, and not due to using Legilimency.

"Suicide." Everyone in the group drew in a breath, but no one disagreed.

Harry tried hard to balance a tone that expressed both support for Hermione's and Neville's observations paired with a confidence in the Headmaster. "I see what you're saying, but why would someone who's brave enough to take on the Dark Lord as a double agent for years and who survived to tell the tale decide to end it because a love affair went bad?" Once those words left his mouth, it occurred to Harry how deeply a love affair gone bad really could, and did, affect someone like Severus Snape.

"And it wasn't even all that long," Ron added.

Luna spoke up. "When people get depressed, even a temporary setback can seem monumental."

Ginny nodded. "And who knows what else is going on? We think it's just Dr. Hunter, but maybe there's more that we don't know about. We don't know why they broke up. It might be something bigger than just the two of them."

Harry remained silent, thinking of what he knew of Snape and his love for his mother, how far he went for that love. He had protected him as a penance for his role in Lilly's death, but now that job was complete. If he had felt even a portion of that devotion for Morgan Hunter, who knew what he might be contemplating now, released from his former obligations.

"He hasn't signed off my college letters of recommendation," Harry noted.

"Honestly, Harry, is that your only concern?" Hermione berated him.

"No," Harry replied quickly, his hands up in protest. "He's committed to being my godfather, we are bound. One of the most important reasons was for someone to be able to vouch for me at college. McGonagall may be a replacement for him as Headmaster, but he can't just bail on his godson."

Luna spoke up. "Rumors have started about him and Professor Sinistra, as well. They were seen walking together down in the dungeons last week. Sinistra never goes down there. She doesn't even like coming down to the Great Hall for meals. Perhaps he's moved on to another romance and the two of them are spending time together."

At this, Ron's jaw dropped open. "Well, it kind of makes sense," Ginny noted. "She's got a similar personality, and she likes being awake at night."

Hermione waved away that notion. "I heard that rumor, but I don't believe that's what's going on. I think he's considering her for Head of Slytherin House. She's the only other Slytherin on the staff, now that Slughorn's retired."

"Head of House? But Snape loves being lord over that house. He refused to give it up, despite being Headmaster."

Hermione looked even more troubled. "I know," she said slowly. "That's why I'm so worried. I think he's looking for someone to fill every role that he plays now. McGonagall as Headmaster, Sinistra as Head of Slytherin, Hunter as the Potions Professor."

Now Neville spoke up. "I heard he and the Deputy Minister of Magical Education might have something going on."

Even Luna seemed surprised, if not by the substance, but by the fact of a rumor she hadn't already heard. Neville continued. "She's here almost weekly, either with Minister Winder or without him. I've seen them casting rather unprofessional looks at one another in the Entrance Hall as the two were leaving. Even the Minister noticed and seemed quite bothered by it. I wonder what goes on during the visits when Winder's not here?"

Ron let out a low whistle, while other eyes were wide, picturing the powerful Deputy Alexander with the Headmaster. Luna spoke first. "That seems like a dangerous combination."

"In what way?" asked Harry, thinking of any number of ways a relationship between Hypatia Alexander and Severus Snape might be dangerous.

Now it was Luna's turn to count on her fingers. "They are both very temperamental and a fight between them could not only damage themselves, but also anyone and anything nearby. She was one of the best Beaters Slytherin ever had, and they've always had good Beaters. Her picture is still on the wall from her school days. She might be trying to get more information out of him for the Ministry. If that were so and Professor Snape found out, who knows what he would do. He probably knows lots of ways to poison people without it being obvious. And if they really are in a relationship and Minister Winder doesn't like it, he could make things hard for Professor Snape. He visits to keep an eye on him for the Ministry as it is. He could simply report that things aren't going well and get Professor Snape sacked. And the Ministry could decide to get more involved with Hogwarts, and we all know how that's turned out in the past."

Everyone responded with silent staring, concern on every face.

"I wonder who he's got in mind as my godfather?" Harry wondered.

Ginny looked up, the color draining from her face. "Son of a bludger, Hermione. Bill was here last week. He wouldn't say why, but I bet that's it. Snape was looking for a new godfather for Harry."

Harry felt a tightening in his stomach. The dinner they'd just enjoyed felt like it was about to reappear.

Minerva McGonagall had an unpleasant duty to address and she was not happy about it. And when the Deputy Headmistress was unhappy, it wasn't subtle. The Advanced Transfiguration students received a stern lecture about their performance and the upcoming N.E.W.T.s, which did not seem favorable at this time. The younger students, although accustomed to her strict style, were more intimidated than usual when she lost patience with Amarantha Caritas, who still couldn't turn her inkpot into a pincushion. Instead, it became half of a sparrow. Ordinarily, she might have admired this hint of a talent at transfiguration, but not today. It may have been partly because the half-bird flapped its ink-covered wings all over the Deputy Headmistress' favorite green velvet robe. When the professor drew her wand, half the class, including Amarantha, dove under their desks in fright, followed by McGonagall transforming the unhappy creature back into an (intact) inkpot before waving away the mess. The students cautiously came back out from behind their desks as she glared at them.

The students were more pleased than anxious when she dismissed them 10 minutes before the usual end of class, thus preventing any further wrath. They all scattered out in the halls, hemmed in by the frigid rain outside. They all backed up against walls as the Deputy Headmistress quickly strode out of class, snapping the door shut with a bang and click with a wave of her wand, then marched without breaking her pace down the hall. Only when she turned the corner and headed down the stairs did anyone feel free to peel themselves off the walls and take a breath again. Most then scurried off to their common rooms to relax. The Professor had been too distracted to assign homework.

Morgan Hunter felt nearly unable to get out of bed. Despite the lengthening days, the sun didn't seem to melt her mood. Despite every intention to restart the next day with new resolve, she hadn't managed to get anything done. She executed her lesson plans robotically, but hadn't done any grading. Now that the parchments and samples were nearly taking over her office, the difficulty in taking on the now monumental task of working her way through them seemed less and less appealing. So she simply spent a lot less time there and more time in her personal quarters.

This choice of location served its purpose well, for she was able to avoid the sight of the piles of uncompleted work, avoid student interruptions, and avoid her fellow staff, none of whom had been bold enough to approach her here.

It was the end of another uninspired round of potions for the 3rd years. She nearly assigned an essay on the uses of powdered eel bone, but then decided she didn't want to think about grading it and closed her mouth. As the students cleaned up and brought the samples of their Bleeding Tonic to her desk, she noticed the figure of Minerva McGonagall hovering at the back of the class. Hunter did not acknowledge her, but continued to collect and store the flasks of bluish liquid. McGonagall waited until the students cleared the lab, closed the door with a swish of her wand, then turned to her.

"Professor Hunter, I know it is difficult to adjust to a new job and that Hogwarts, having been the scene of a recent war, is not always an easy place to be," she said without preamble in her usual direct style.

Hunter merely nodded, not bothering to stand or meet the gaze of the Deputy Headmistress. She prepared for the coming list of criticisms (ungraded homework, lax brewing supervision, missing meals, avoiding staff meetings, the list could go on for quite some time). The criticism would then be followed by an impossible list of required steps to take to prevent her being sacked. When she did not meet those requirements, it would be an easy task to let her go, having given her the chance to redeem herself. She closed her eyes in anticipation of caustic words from the strict professor, as though not seeing her might make the situation less painful or the outcome less inevitable.

The excoriation never came. Professor McGonagall sat down on the small stool opposite the teacher's desk and conjured up a tray with two steaming cups of tea, a full pot, a pitcher of cream, and a jar of honey. Without asking if she wanted one, she handed a cup to Hunter, who wordlessly accepted it, but did not drink.

"It isn't poisoned, I assure you," McGonagall said, with an attempt at humor. Hunter gave a wan smile. The warmth of the cup only served as a reminder to her of how cold her fingers were, how cold the classroom was, how cold Hogwarts was. She abhorred the cold.

McGonagall took a sip of the steaming liquid and continued. "I've read some things in the papers, my dear. I know you've had some hard times and not just here. I've lost love, too, myself. Twice, in fact."

Hunter was surprised at her soft tone, not at all the admonishment she'd expected. But what could McGonagall know about what she was feeling? What she'd been through? What she'd lost before and what she was losing now?

McGonagall didn't need a reply to continue on. Now she looked away from Hunter, her eyes focused on some distant place far behind her. "My first love I met just after I graduated from Hogwarts, a lovely man from my village in Scotland. He was my true love, but we could never marry. He was a Muggle and I couldn't hold my magic in for the rest of my life, even for him. Dougal." She put down her cup in the saucer in her lap and looked wistfully into the shadows. "I still remember the moment he proposed to me, on the fields of his father's farm. The sun was shining and there were birds migrating. The field had been recently tilled. I was so in love, and I still am. But I had to say no. That was hard enough, but the worst part was I couldn't tell him why."

Hunter, though moved by her words, still did not respond.

McGonagall made to take another sip of tea, but then set her cup down again. "When my mother married my father, a Muggle, she decided to honor the International Statute of Secrecy and never told my father what she was. Once she realized I was a witch, too, she showed me her magic, but she lived for years deeply unhappy that she couldn't use her gifts. I couldn't live that way, so I resolved to never marry if I couldn't be with Dougal and be my full self. I kept that resolution for many years." Now she took a sip of tea, more to pause between thoughts than out of thirst. Hunter's cup had run out of heat. McGonagall uttered a slight spell and the cup rewarmed instantly, the warmth beginning to bring comfort to Hunter's hands. "I went to work for many years at the Ministry, in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. There, I met another who helped me through my grief. We worked together for a long time and he eventually persuaded me to marry him. But only after he asked me for several years. We had three years of happiness before he died." She took a sip of tea, the warm liquid steaming in the chill of the dungeon classroom. "I was a total wreck. I thought I couldn't go on. I decided, instead, to devote myself to teaching. I left the Ministry of Magic and came to Hogwarts."

Here, she put the cup on Hunter's desk and reached for her hand. "Not a day goes by that I don't think of Dougal or Elphinstone and wish things had turned out some other way. But I also look at my time here, and I'm proud of my life and what I've done."

Hunter took some time to grasp all that had been said. Had someone told her that Minerva McGonagall would be sharing details of her personal life with her that afternoon, she would surely had laughed them out of the room. And yet, that was the reality.

"Professor…" she began, feeling an obligation to reply in some way, but having no idea what to say, either in reply or about her own situation.

McGonagall waved away her attempt to speak. "Please, call me Minerva, Morgan. We are only two witches here and I am speaking not as your colleague, but as a friend." She squeezed Morgan's hand, worry and concern written on her face. "I've worked with Severus for a long time, but still I know very little about him. He's been a very private and solitary man for many years, out of both necessity and nature. He's deeply wary of the motivations of others, demanding to those around him, and has a long habit of being caustic and keeping others at a distance. But he is also highly intelligent, complex, and intensely loyal. Whatever there may have been between you, I'm sure it wasn't easy. And what may yet come won't be easy, either. But even I could see that he meant something to you, and that you meant something to him." Hunter made a feeble attempt to protest, but McGonagall waved her unspoken words away. "You both tried to be discreet, but when he started to take some trouble to his appearance, stopped giving so many detentions, everyone took notice. Your choice to spend far more time than was needed to work together on your publications was noticed."

Hunter would ordinarily have blushed at having her personal feelings so plainly discussed, but she seemed to lack the emotional range to react in any meaningful way. She sat back in her chair and looked towards door to the classroom, wishing she could simply walk out.

McGonagall, too, seemed to have reached a point after which her words were more carefully chosen, more slowly spoken. "And now that you're having problems, it's clearly affecting both of you."

Hunter managed to mutter "I'm sorry," but McGonagall sighed. "I'm not here to discipline you, Morgan. I'd like to offer some advice, witch to witch, from someone who has been where you are now. You need to think this over, decide if you are ready to give it all up, or give him one more chance. Can you live the rest of your life knowing you might lose what you want so much? What have you got to lose? What's the worst that could happen?"

What _was_ the worst? A dozen scenarios presented themselves immediately. He might hex her. He'd drawn his wand on her before. She knew he was only trying to make a point about what she might believe about his being a Death Eater, that he'd only launched a mild spell, but what more was he capable of? It gave her no pleasure to recall his surprise when she'd so easily cast off the binding. Surely he could do worse. He was a skilled duelist, she'd heard. She also had heard rumblings among the students that he had fought McGonagall herself, but Hunter hadn't the guts to ask about that.

He might poison her, give her boils or a rash.

But then she imagined the true worst outcome. He might simply sneer at her and turn away, utterly uninterested. And that thought chilled her even more than the dark and dampness here in the dungeons.

McGonagall stood and waved away the tea. "Please think about what I've said, Morgan. You are very well-regarded here at Hogwarts. You are a strong and powerful witch, stronger even than you think you are." She gave her an encouraging glance and exited with a soft swish of velvet robes, leaving Hunter alone, in some combination of stunned and confused. She waved her wand to re-seal the door and prevent any further intrusion on her solitude.


	25. Chapter 25: Watch

**Good day, readers. Thank you for your kind reviews, which are like catnip to writers. They are VERY MUCH appreciated. And a shout out to my far-flung readers, from Alaska to Australia, the Maldives, Romania, and so many other places. It's a real honor to know that readers around the world are enjoying and following along.**

 **I got a note recently that my version of Sedona was worthy. I couldn't be more pleased. I've only visited a couple of times. If anyone has feedback to offer to make the story better, pipe right up!**

 **In my house, we call it "winter psychosis." About this time of year, we've all been inside too long and everyone is starting to get squirrelly. I think Hogwarts must be the same, those long Highland winters difficult to endure. We've had a nice respite from that this year, but Hunter and Snape are not so lucky.**

 **Enjoy! DN**

From that point forward, it was agreed that everyone would keep as close an eye on the Headmaster as waking hours permitted, with night watches out the windows of Gryffindor Tower every night. It was incomplete, of course, the tower not having a full view of all the grounds, the nights being generally overcast and pitch black, and the general difficulty of students staying awake. More than once, upon waking, they'd find the evening's observer fast asleep in the armchair by the window. At first, Harry had been angry. Then it was his turn.

The first few hours were ok, kind of nice, actually. Looking out across the frozen snow and the ice-covered lake on a clear night gave him a chance to clear his head, quiet time alone to think over things. And he had a lot to think over.

He'd made up his mind to at least give university a try, if he was accepted anywhere. The worst that could happen was he'd drop out. He might still be able to make a go of the national Quidditch team, or maybe coaching. Auror training was another option. And McGonagall had suggested teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, though Harry wondered if Snape might eventually take that over and find someone else for Potions. And even if he didn't, the likelihood that he would hire Harry seemed small. Between his desire to avoid any appearance of favoritism, a goal he'd fully achieved, Snape didn't seem to regard Harry's abilities highly. Professor Jones was doing well and hadn't shown any signs of being cursed or hexed. She'd probably be there for a while anyway.

Ginny was on his mind, too. And the Headmaster's words. She _was_ a witch of uncommon distinction, she _did_ tolerate him, and he was certain there would, indeed, be any number of wizards lining up at her door should they part. But marriage, that was a big deal. An eternal Binding. When he thought about life without her, or with anyone else, he felt empty and lost. But when he pictured her being there, wherever "there" was, it felt right. He would to "have a conversation" with Arthur and Molly Weasley. And Snape. He supposed he knew what Snape's answer would be, given their most recent exchange of words, but he would probably need help with whatever legal consultation would need to happen. The thought of the pile of parchments marriage would entail, given what was required for a godparent, was daunting.

The thought of talking to Snape to understand what a marriage entailed was daunting in itself. He grinned slightly, imagining what sage advice on marriage his godfather might issue. But his amusement turned to anger when he considered what Snape's plans for himself might be, that he might not actually be present for whatever lay ahead for Harry and Ginny. He felt a burning rage that he hadn't felt in a long time, but reminded himself that he didn't really know what Snape plans were, that they were just making assumptions and they could easily be wrong. He turned his thoughts back to Ginny.

What would she say? Harry pictured his proposal in his mind, trying to figure out when, where, what he would say. Then all the possibilities for what she might say (or do). The next thing he knew, Dean was shaking him awake, the predawn light just beginning to peek through the trees. He'd fallen asleep, for who knew how long. He immediately jumped up with a start and scanned the visible landscape for any tell-tale footprints.

Hunter was certain she was descending into madness. She could feel it, but seemed to be unable to do anything to halt its progress. After her talk with Minerva, she'd made every effort to right herself, in mind and body. Pepper-Up potion had long since ceased to work and her St. John's Wort tablets were as useless this time as they had been the last. She threw the vials to the floor in exasperation, the sound of the crystal smashing and the look of the shards all over the stones giving her what amounted to the only thing like pleasure she's felt in months. She cleaned up the mess with a wave of her wand, then returned to her chair. She needed to go to the library, to get another book to read, but couldn't work up the energy, nor a notion as to what she'd want to read.

Tomorrow was Thursday, which meant that Parse Winder was likely to make his now-weekly visit. If not Parse, then at least his deputy. Even if Parse couldn't make it, Hypatia was always there. _I have no idea why they drag me into these discussions,_ she mused. Check that, she knew exactly why, but it had little to do with the incident with Janiss.

These weekly visits were incredibly difficult for her. It took her nearly the week after to recover, for this was the only time she ever saw Severus any more, as he'd withdrawn from attending staff meetings, leaving that to Minerva. Seeing him only made her feel even more that she was slipping over the edge. It was bad enough that he had rejected her, but now she was an unwilling witness to his growing interest in Hypatia Alexander. The weeks that Parse wasn't able to attend, Hypatia was always already in the room before she arrived, looking a little too relaxed and pleased to be there. The tone certainly shifted with her arrival, as would be expected. She and Severus would rise from the sofa where they had been sitting together before the fire and return to the more appropriate setting of the Headmaster's desk and chair. Those weeks the meeting was mercifully short. Alexander seemed to have reached the just conclusion that Hunter had very little to add to the Ministry's efforts at oversight. But when Parse was there, it was a whole different story.

Then the tone was a strained attempt to be jovial, as though they were all just a group of friends having a Firewhiskey after long day of work and sharing stories. Parse and Hypatia would be waiting in the hall outside the Headmaster's office, he blustering loudly, she listening silently with little emotion.

"Dr. Hunter! So good to see you!" he'd say, turning to her as if her appearance in the corridor outside the Headmaster's office were some happy coincidence and not ordered by him. He'd clasp her hand and cover it with his other, the handshake drawing her closer to him than she wished to be. She was certain at some point this might escalate to a clap on the shoulder, or, worse still, a hug, but her chilly demeanor seemed to have slowed this progression of familiarity. "Hypatia and I just arrived, perfect timing. Shall we go up?" He'd bow then and open the door with the password of the moment ("odollam"), then gesture gallantly for her to enter first. He'd follow, leaving Deputy Alexander throwing him daggers as she came in last.

These visits had become so routine, it was like a well-choreographed dance. Severus standing formally upon their entrance, listening to whatever story or joke Parse was telling, then gesturing for them all to sit, each in their now proscribed chairs. Refreshments would have arrived from the kitchens already and be served. Whichever cake Hypatia took the week before would be present in double portions the next week. Wine of a variety she liked would be served. She would make particularly appreciative noises while eating and drinking, casting approving looks at the Headmaster.

Then it was time for business. Hypatia would ask her about the previous week, did she have anything to share? She never did. The Deputy would then dismiss her. And within about 15 seconds, Parse would appear in the hall after her, with some small thing he'd "forgotten" to ask or tell her. He showed excessive concern for her health, given that she'd cancelled the lecture she was supposed to give to the Ministry in February, claiming to be under the weather. Then he would attempt to confirm a date for another lecture in the future, but Hunter always declined, citing her busy teaching and research schedule. She contemplated telling him what she speculated was going on with the Headmaster and his deputy, but couldn't manage to lower herself to the level of gossip instigator. She still had some pride.

No, she didn't. She'd left that behind before the holidays. Whatever scope of thoughts and responsibility she'd had before, with teaching, lecturing, research, publishing, and advancing her profession, she had reduced her attention now to one thing, to one man. She'd become the kind of pathetic witch she'd held in contempt before. Spending all her waking time mooning over some lost love.

She was becoming paranoid. Was there something going on with Deputy Alexander? What about Aurora Sinistra? She'd seen her coming up from the dungeons more than once, after having never seen her there before. Hunter had considered sharing some of her current distress with her new friend, but now thought the better of it.

There were rumors of every imaginable kind on the subject of just what was taking so much of the Headmaster's time these days. College recommendation letters, a new capital fundraising campaign, failing health, a slow-acting curse or hex. There were other, less savory ideas, as well. Brewing poisons, making Veritaserum to aid the Ministry's interrogations, writing up memoirs that would reveal the truth about members of the Wizengamot that they might wish to keep secret. And love affairs. It seemed that hardly a witch on the staff was spared, with the exception of herself and McGonagall. Aurora Sinistra, Hestia Jones, and now Hypatia Alexander. It seemed there were daily new rumors. Having little else to occupy their thoughts and time, with the outside weather still forbiddingly cold and windy, the students were spending an unhealthy amount of time gathered around the house fireplaces, weaving elaborate stories on the shaky foundations of tiny observations.

Hunter resolved to ignore these wild speculations. She said her goodbyes as curtly as she could to Minister Winder and returned to her office in the dungeons. Casting a warming spell that never seemed to be quite strong enough, she drew her woolen robe more tightly around herself, glad that she'd treated herself to a Christmas gift of this heavy robe. It was grey and patterned with alchemical symbols in black embroidery. It was expensive, but now seemed worth the money. In Sedona, she'd never needed to be particularly good at warming spells. Just a bit for chilly desert nights. Now that gap in her repertoire of charms was yet another aggravation. She was improving, but not quickly enough. By the time she could master a sufficient one, it would probably be warming up anyhow.

Now sealed behind the door to her office, she set to her work. She had neglected to assign the homework the previous week, twelve inches of parchment on the value of agate in Potions. She was not in a mood to grade. She finally tested the third-years' Salve of Salvation from the first week of January and found it universally wanting. Not a single creature had come back to life from any of them, even the samples from the more promising students. Rubeus Hagrid would be disappointed. Another generally useless Old World potion. At some point, she might make some herself to test. Or perhaps they could use it in their research, find a better way….

Or not. There was no "they" anymore. More than anything, Hunter simply wanted to move on, to stop brooding over him, to fill her brain with other thoughts. But her brain would not cooperate. Like water in a sink, it seemed as though it was all aiming for going down the drain and returning to thinking of Severus. Who clearly was NOT thinking of her, but thinking of every other witch on the staff or at the Ministry.

What had she been thinking? He read one absurd article in the newspaper, a newspaper he himself had told her not to trust, and believed the worst in her. All that he'd known of her from months of collaboration and more personal interactions had been tossed aside. He clearly was not that man she'd believed him to be. Nor the man Minerva McGonagall believed him to be. She wondered now the same thing she knew others had wondered at the time: What did she see in him? It made sense to her at the time, but now?

She felt herself slip one more rung down towards losing it completely. She couldn't trust what she was seeing anymore, didn't know who she could trust, didn't know if anyone trusted her. She had no one to talk to, given that every other witch on the staff was now rumored to be Snape's new lover. Or hopelessly deluded, like McGonagall.

Instead, she took inventory of the stores. With the vernal equinox only a few weeks away, she might request a harvest from Pomona Sprout. The stores of castor beans, passion flower leaves, hellebore root, and jequirity seeds were in need of replenishment and it would give her a good reason to get out to the greenhouse. Perhaps she could talk to Professor Sprout, who had yet to become the subject of a rumor of romance with Severus.

Eventually, she managed to carry herself from her office to her rooms, deeper in the dungeons. She requested dinner there, picked at it slightly, then put herself to bed, heaped over with four blankets and another weak warming charm. As she shivered, waiting for her own heat and the charm to make her bed comfortable, she allowed herself another round of tears, for if she had no such release, she might have simply spontaneously combusted. As she did most nights, she thought back to better times, in the desert, the heat of the sun on her face (which was now as pale as it had ever been), the warmth of the air through her hair, the energy from the earth running through her feet. And Phillipus. Like most nights, she resolved then to be more active and engaged in the morning, to finish her year here, then return to Sedona, whether to teach or simply to run her business. After so many such resolutions, she knew she'd feel tired and unrested in the morning and unwilling to mount a vigorous resistance to apathy. But for now, the thought was pleasant and calming enough to deliver her to sleep.

Upon waking, she felt yet again she was losing her grip. Her dreams, always yearning, searching, pursuing, now had her in the desert. With Severus.

The weather had technically improved, the snow giving way to intermittent rounds of cold rain. The snow piles melting created mushy grounds and fields, the rain beating the piles down more. The sun shone through weakly from time to time, only to be obscured by clouds only minutes later.

At last the fires of Hogwarts castle seemed to be able to keep up with the temperatures, so warming charms were less used, though many students were now prepared to demonstrate one perfectly, should they be asked to for N.E.W.T. exams. The heaviest cloaks and robes were packed away with the woolen socks, though hats and scarves remained, both for warmth and house spirit during Quidditch matches.

Harry, Ron and Hermione entered the Great Hall for an all-school assembly first thing on a Monday morning and were looking for places to sit at the Gryffindor table. Ginny and Luna waved them over, where there was space next to Dean and Seamus.

"What's this about?" wondered Neville idly, thumbing through a seed catalogue.

"Getting ready for spring planting?" Seamus asked. Neville nodded silently, immersed in his task. "Grow some gillyweed for me. I'm going to the Great Barrier Reef after I graduate. I'll need it." Neville looked up, impressed, and began to consider graduation plants for all of his friends, making notes in the margins.

It had been since the Christmas feast that the Hall had been this full, every seat taken at the staff table, as well as the house tables. All but one. Even Filch and Madam Pince were there. Harry looked around until McGonagall began to speak.

"It's time to talk about the schedule for exams and graduations this year. They are coming sooner than you think…." McGonagall began, casting down an admonishing glance that seemed to take in everyone at once.

As she continued to drone on, Harry attempted to depart as discreetly as possible. "Where are you going? They said this was required," Hermione whispered urgently, her hand on his elbow.

"Snape's not here," Harry said simply, shaking off her arm and continuing out a side door. Once outside the hall, he ran up to his dormitory and grabbed the Marauder's Map off his desk. Why hadn't he taken it with him today? Opening, he searched the castle for the Potions Master, without success. With all the staff and students gathered in the Great Hall, it should have been easy. Even Hagrid and Madame Pomfrey were there. Where could he be? If he'd already done himself in, would he disappear from the map? Harry unfolded it further, looking out across the grounds, until he saw it. Severus Snape, walking away from the castle, down towards the Black Lake. Harry threw on his cloak and took off down the stairs in a barely-controlled fall, jumping the last few steps on each floor.

He burst out the back door, consulting the map again as he ran across the soggy grass.


	26. Chapter 26: The Water

**Good day, readers. This one is a little short. Reviews? Enjoying? Let me know what you think. More to come, keep being patient.**

 **DN**

Hunter felt like she was collapsing as she sat in the Great Hall. The Assistant Headmaster had been speaking for nearly an hour already and showed no signs of stopping. It wasn't possible that the students were still paying attention, despite the fact that she was discussing such important information about O.W.L.s, N.E.W.T.s, the end of term, spring holidays, and everything else. Most students' eyes were either closed or glazed over. McGonagall didn't seem to notice. Even the rest of the staff seemed bored to death. Except Severus. He hadn't bothered to show up for this, either. He seemed to feel now that performing whatever duties his roles demanded was beneath him. Outside his office during their meetings with Winder and Alexander, she rarely saw him even in passing. She knew he was still about, as he kept up teaching. The door to his lab was closed and locked otherwise, but flickering light and the scent of the brewing of unfamiliar potions crept out.

She desperately needed to see the sun, to feel the earth under her feet, to be reconnected. Surely THAT would set things right, help put her on the path back to sanity. The Great Hall, despite its cavernous size and charmed ceiling, was simply no match for simply being outdoors. The sun was up now, the air getting warmer. She found she was utterly unable to tolerate even a moment further of this lecture. She located a door very close behind her and quietly slipped out.

Once in the corridor, she stood with her back against the wall for support and took a few breaths to clear her head. The corridors were so strangely silent and empty, rather like during the holidays. Not a soul stirred. She headed to the back lawn of the castle, towards the lake, where the sun would rise first and the warmth would begin.

Exiting the back door, she turned southeast to face the morning sun that now shone over the mountains, closing her eyes to feel the meager but present warmth on her face. Despite the chill, she removed her shoes and stepped onto the cold, wet grass. She softly sang a song, drawing forth the energy from the earth into her body. Her feet moved in rhythm as she continued, down the slope towards the lake. Unlike Sedona, where energy radiated from the rocks and earth all the time, and in huge quantity in some places, Hogwarts' grounds yielded very little. That notwithstanding, she drew in what she could from the sun and the earth and began to feel the better for it. Not great, not 100%, but some small improvement. Perhaps she'd turned the corner and she could begin to heal now. At the very least, perhaps she might gain enough strength to make it through to the end of the school year and return home to the desert, where surely full recovery awaited her.

The first glint of light had just come over the trees as Harry launched himself out onto the lawn, still eyeing his map. Snape's form was difficult to make out in the thin, wan light. He was moving quickly down the rocky hill, towards the lake. Harry followed as fast as his legs would carry him, slipping over rocks as he struggled to fold the map and tuck it away, having made visual contact with the dark form of the Headmaster, far ahead of him. Why had he not carried the map in his bag today, of all days? Having to go retrieve it had cost him precious time. He drew his wand and cast an Arresto Momentum, then recalled that only worked to slow down objects, not people. He then tried to cast the Immobulus, but he was too far away and not able to cast it well on unstable footing. The effort at spell-casting was slowing him down, and there was no time to lose.

Snape never turned nor slowed, seeming not to notice his pursuer.

Harry continued on down. He was catching up, moving considerably faster than Snape, closing the distance between them. His lungs were burning, his legs on fire, his feet aching from hard steps on the rocks as he moved as quickly as he could ever remember over ground. He'd be there already if he had only thought to get his broom. Even on his old Thunderbolt, he would be faster. The cold air felt renovating, helping cool him as he drove himself on.

Now Snape had reached the pier, his pace still deliberate and unchanging as he proceeded inexorably towards its far end, his footsteps marching down the aged boards carrying through the otherwise silent morning. The water was dark, with a thin crust of ice still covering parts of it. The weak rays of early morning sunlight glinted on its glassy, still surface, but the effect was not inviting. The lake remained gloomy and forbidding. The slimy surface of the rocks on the shore still bore witness to the tentacles that had scarred them through the winter.

Harry had had to slow down, having lost his footing more than once, his ankle now complaining as he continued despite a twist or two. The stones were only becoming more treacherous as he got closer to the water's edge.

He tried to call out, to stop him with his voice, but his lungs' demand for air precluded this. Bending over, choking and coughing, Harry at last kept himself from falling, hands propped on his thighs, head bent in an attempt to gather enough breath enough to shout. Looking up, he immediately drew his wand.

Severus Snape was badly out of breath, glad that he had reached the solid planks of the dock before his legs gave out. The assembly had provided a perfect opportunity to do what needed to be done outside the prying of others. Everything was finally at the ready.

Minerva was fully ready to assume the Headmastership of the school, as she had been for many years.

Morgan Hunter would be an excellent Potions Mistress, with Hypatia Alexander as her junior colleague. Hypatia would, no doubt, be displeased to discover that her position would be the secondary one, as Snape had not been specific about her rank within the Potions faculty. But he would not be there to experience her blistering temper, thankfully. Morgan would be fine, with her impressive defensive skills.

Aurora Sinistra would be Head of Slytherin House, a novel role for her, but one that she would grow into. She'd hardly be maternal like Minerva or Pomona Sprout, but that wasn't necessary to be effective. He wondered if she would move down to the dungeons, or simply visit her student charges.

And Bill Weasley. Now that Harry's college acceptances had been received and Snape's signature was affixed to vouch for his ability to pay, there really wasn't anything more the boy needed from a godfather. Nothing that Bill couldn't handle ably. Though it did occur to him that he might be forced to evaluate his godson's marrying his sister. An unusual situation, but hardly cause for alarm.

It was all arranged, his exit would be seamless. Every niche filled, no role left empty, no reason to persist any longer.

The time was now, he'd waited long enough, tried enough, lived long enough. His body bore the familiar ache of abuse once again, his heart filled with a familiar heaviness, his soul steeped in familiar determination. He would never even feel the water. He reached into his pocket as he continued down the pier, his hand wrapping around the cold crystal. He drew it out, removing the cap easily with one hand, raising the brown, foul-smelling liquid to his lips.

So soon, release would be his.

The vial flew from his hands before he heard a voice shouting "Accio Vial." He had a pursuer. But he had planned for this. Nothing would stop him from achieving his goal. In two more steps, he'd withdrawn the second vial. Two more steps, the cap withdrawn, one more step, to his mouth.

A second "Accio Vial." The sound of footsteps far back on the pier, too far to reach him. A third vial, in one step, cap off in one, and to his mouth.

Harry was running again. Two vials in his hands with Merlin-knows-what in them, tossed aside. Out of breath again, choking on his words. How many vials had Snape brought? He was reaching for another. Harry was too far away, he couldn't speak, his wand wouldn't cast a spell on its own, despite his pointing it directly at the dark robes. No, no, no. He had to get there, had to stop him, no.

His thoughts slowed to a crawl. He could sense every muscle in his body, moving with one another, some in pain, some still working fine, pulling his bone, tugging at tendons and ligaments, his cartilage bearing the impact of each step across the hard stones, the impact rattling up through his bones. Every air sac in his lungs was an individual one, each crying out for more. He even felt each hair on his head, waving in different directions from running and the movement of air off the surface of the lake.

He felt his body beginning to lose form, each intersection losing separateness, synapses gone, everything blending together, nothing separating his eyes, his mind, and his body. His wand pulled him off his feet, somewhat like apparating, or using the floo network when the system wasn't working well. He wasn't sure where his feet were, nor his legs for that matter. His shoulder was ready to pop from its socket, bearing the weight of his body behind it as though he were hanging from one arm, only sideways. He was flying towards Snape, he was going to reach him. If he didn't have to stop to vomit first.

Severus Snape could smell the brown liquid as the vial passed under his nose, now like an old friend after having simmered and brewed for the last month. He was surprised Harry was being so persistent, but he had two more vials in reserve, just in case he caught his breath. He gave one final thought to escape, then opened his mouth.

Harry aimed for the hand holding the vial, his wand followed by every cell in his body, focused on that one point, like when he was chasing the Snitch. This time, he missed. Instead, he struck the Headmaster squarely in his back at full speed. Harry heard the sound of cracking, felt his entire body both regaining a solid state and colliding at full speed into another solid body. Was the sound his bones, Snape's bones, his wand, the vial, the boards of the pier, all of those things, or something else? There was no time to think. Nor to change direction. Time was no longer proceeding at a crawl, but seemed to have fast-forwarded to this moment. Both of them tumbled over the edge and into the water.


	27. Chapter 27: Under

**Good day, readers. Sorry to keep you hanging. Well, that's not true. I was hoping to shake a few reviews from the trees by giving you a cliffhanger. I did get a few new followers, which is kind. Thank you! It is wonderful to look at the charts and see new readers from all over the world (Kazakhstan, Indonesia, Luxembourg, Algeria, many more). Please leave your thoughts, even if they are pointing out errors/inconsistencies.**

 **Let's get to the story. Enjoy! DN**

First a forceful and unexpected collision, followed by the crash through ice and into the water. Snape had not planned to feel the water. It was blindingly cold, knocking him unconscious for a moment. When he came to, he remained calm, despite the cold screaming through his body. Though this was not part of his plan, he knew that he could not last long in the icy water. The result would still be the same. He felt his clothes bind him, his heavy cloak pulling against his jacket, swirling around him, weighing him down. He had no sense of what direction was up. He steeled himself as the blackness began.

As he sank into the water, Harry felt the cold biting into his flesh, stunning him. He was never a good swimmer. Cold, breaking every bone, muscle, and joint. Synapses now functional again, sending alarm to his brain in an overload. Pain. Cold so deep it burned. Lungs burning already, now screaming for air. His robes twisted around him, tightening as he flailed, trying to figure out what direction was up. He thought of Ginny, waiting; his mother and father. He found his direction and tried to pull and kick at the water. He struck something in the water, but blackness closed in before he could identify it. Gillyweed, nowhere. Blackness overcame him.

He was struck by a hand and kicked, jarring him out of his pleasant image of the end. What was that?

Harry. In the water, freezing with him. Dying with him. Dying because of him. Dying for him.

A slimy, muscular tentacle wrapped around his ankle, pulling him in deeper. No. Snape conjured every drop of will to move his muscles, locate his wand, and cast a Relashio spell. No effect, it was cast too weakly. No. No. Blackness overcame him.

The tentacle released. His ankle was freed. Hands, pushing him strongly upward. The surface, air, filling his lungs, choking out water, the taste of grime and slime. The feeling of rocks under his body. The shore. He felt the effect of a warming spell, then a drying spell as he rested, still half in the cold water. Once he could think again, he turned toward the lake. Harry was still in the water.

He cast a Relashio spell again, this one stronger. At last, Harry's head broke the surface, his arms and legs making no contribution to keeping him afloat. He coughed out water, gasped desperately for air, then began to move slowly to towards the shore. Still lying on the rocks, Snape cast a weak warming spell on Harry which seemed to have a useful result. He then tried a feeble "Accio," which didn't work well at all. Harry seemed to be moving more quickly to the shore, despite the look of exhaustion written on his face. Snape managed a crawl toward Harry's collapsed form. The young wizard offered no resistance or assistance to Snape's hauling him into shore, and contributed nothing to the effort to get out of the water.

Once Harry was fully clear of the water, Snape collapsed again beside him. He cast a drying spell on their clothes, then a warming spell, both of which worked surprisingly well, despite Snape's near-inability to breathe. With a wave of his wand, he transfigured a mat of mosses into a sort of blanket, which began as a small, thin sheet, but continued to grow until it had become a thick woolen blanket large enough to cover them both. Then he rested, utterly depleted from the exertion, barely having the strength to breathe. The rising sun added to the warmth, though weakly. He added to the warming charm as much as he was able, needing to rest after each cast.

He had a body again. That was good. His lungs seemed to function. Also good. He was still too tired to open his eyes, so he took an inventory of his body. It seemed there were no broken bones, nothing separated, but also nothing that wasn't alive with pain. He could feel every rib, every fold of his stomach, even his ears, every part of him telling him there was trouble. He must have been imagining his hair hurting.

The symphony of agony was subsiding a bit now. He could feel the dirt on which he lay, each layer of clothing between his body and the rough ground. Now he tried moving, but then gave up at the combination of effort needed and pain elicited. He focused on listening then. His breath was rasping as he coughed out additional, foul-tasting water from the lake. The effort exhausted him once again. Once he'd calmed, he heard the birds in the forest, the slow lap of tiny waves on the lakeside. Someone else breathing.

He rolled his head towards the direction of the breathing. Snape was there, pale and drawn, looking older and weaker than he had even when he'd been dead (technically). But breathing. Snape's head slowly turned toward Harry's, his eyes opening slightly. He said nothing, but seemed relieved to see Harry's eyes open. His eyes closed again.

Once assured that Harry was likely to live, his anger rose. He lay for quite some time before speaking.

"Why must you interfere, Potter? There's no point in rescuing a wizard who cannot be saved."

Harry was resting, enjoying the warmth as the charms and blanket coiled around him. As the cold left him and it became more and more certain that both he and Snape would live, anger began to take over. He was readying himself to let fly with his pent-up anger, when he heard Snape's words. His rage boiled over.

"How could you betray me, Severus?" he spat out in disgust.

Snape's eyes shot open in surprise. He rolled his head towards Harry, his mouth opening, but no further words coming out. Harry continued, taking full advantage of a rare time when Snape either couldn't or wouldn't answer back.

"You used me, allowed me to think there was some real link between us, just to get what you wanted."

Snape looked away, coughing as he did so. "Harry…" he said weakly.

Harry had no interest in Snape's protestations and let loose with every monologue he'd pictured during every night he'd stayed awake, hoping their predictions of the Headmaster's intent had been wrong. "Explain yourself, Professor. You've been given an opportunity by virtue of your having lived that lots of witches and wizards never had, and now you throw it away."

Snape looked on in agony, hearing the echo of his own words. "Harry…"

"And then you tried to destroy yourself, to destroy a part of her. All over again. Well, as long as I'm living, I plan to keep every bit of her alive, including what small amount of her blood you got from our Binding. And if you had a soul, you'd do the same." The rage that Harry felt was no longer a match for his exhaustion.

There was so much more he'd wanted to say, so much longer he'd pictured himself going on for. His betrayal, his disloyalty, his shame. Even in his imaginations, the shouting had eventually petered out into blather, having no rational words to describe the combination of both a desire to never lose even this small link to his mother, and his revulsion of Snape's decision to destroy that. He both loathed and needed him in equal measure, a fact that furthered the downward spiral of his thoughts into an incoherent mush of pain, loss, connection, and rejection. Instead, having nothing else he could do in his depleted physical state, he spit.

Her blood. Those two words. The waves of realization washed over him again and again, more powerful than an incoming tide.

Her blood.

The presence of just a tiny bit of her persisting within him, the key to it all.

He had only a small capacity for something like love when he'd know her. It would have been easy to call it possessiveness or jealousy. It was painful, desperate, violent. Its loss had been a lingering wound, a cavernous gap. A gap he'd sought to fill for the past 17 years, without success. But with Morgan, it was him who'd been different. And the loss of her love, thanks to his suspicions and foolishness, had been unbearable. To live without her love, knowing that he would face a long future alone, feeling this pain, was beyond enduring.

And Harry. His godson. He now saw himself as a true, living link to Harry's family, a genuine blood bond, not only to the son. Her blood, and James' blood, was in him, and in Harry. He was more that only his roles, his duties, his obligations. His physical body, this mattered, too.

Snape cursed himself wordlessly. How had he been so ignorant not to see this? And if only a few drops of her blood in him could cause feelings that seemed so extreme to him, what must Harry feel? And what must Morgan feel?

He'd rejected her in the cruelest fashion possible, casting her forgiveness of his boorish mental invasion as evidence for her duplicity and hexing her, threatening her. Now he would need to persist in this life, until its natural end, whenever that should be. His obligation was now truly forever.

He had a lot of repair work to begin and it would start now.

Harry lay still, feeling each stone in the dirt on his aching back, but still unable to shift or roll for better comfort, never mind sitting, standing, or walking away. Tears were not coming, he was beyond that, so he simply allowed his words to sink into Snape while he listened more. He felt and heard his own heartbeat as his awareness of his own blood increased. Thank Merlin for this blanket, too, providing much-needed warmth. The breeze moved the branches of trees that were beginning to show signs of spring buds, at last throwing off the long, cold winter. A few more birds hopped from branch to branch, looking for early bugs and worms for a meal.

And then words, from Snape. Not surprising, but annoying. His not being able to move and having run out of words himself trapped him into silent submission. He braced himself for a lecture of denial, or worse, an admission of guilt.

"Harry," Snape began. He was then silent for a long time, as though trying very hard to say the right thing. What the right thing was when you'd just run out on your life and nearly killed the person you'd just spent 17 years protecting was clearly not obvious, as the silence gathered around them.

Harry had never heard the tiredness, the defeat in Snape's voice that he heard now. "When I died before, during the war, I was ready. I wanted death, was thirsty for it. I had wanted death so many times before, but denied it to myself as penance. But I was sent back, still having more I needed to do for you."

Harry pondered these words. He wondered who had sent Snape back and from where, but the white hot anger within him stopped him from giving the appearance that he cared.

"I thought that I had fulfilled all that you needed by sending away your recommendations and paperwork for college. I couldn't have imagined that I meant anything more than that to you, or to anyone. Having her blood within me has changed me, Harry, made me feel more. It has also meant I felt my losses more acutely. I have no skills in matters of personal relationships. Only now I feel their absence more painfully. And this will always be so. I am too old to learn how to deal with people, damaged beyond repair since birth. First an unwanted burden at home and a magical freak in the Muggle world. Even at Hogwarts, a place I'd dreamed of fitting in, I was never able to discover friendship, only strategy and maneuvering. Joining the Death Eaters seemed like the best way forward for someone with so few prospects, but that, too, was a disaster. Dumbledore helped me seek what is right, but there was no way to have an ordinary life, given my precarious situation. I was too much in Dumbledore's possession to think about my own emotions. Now, I have had too much time to ponder with too little hope of change. Nothing lies in front of me but years of emptiness. I take solace in knowing that some part of your mother survives in me, as she does in you, but this is tempered by knowing I will likely live the years in front of me as I have those before, alone."

Harry considered how much in common he and Snape shared, having been an unwanted burden to the Durselys and a freak at Muggle school. But he'd found friends at Hogwarts. It didn't hurt that he was already famous before he'd even set foot in the place, even before he knew of the place. He might have turned out the same if he'd never felt the warmth of friendship, if he'd been sorted into Slytherin. So much could have been so different for him, but for small turns of fortune.

Still his anger burned. How could such a brave man have tried to do something so cowardly? Could he really have believed that he was only the sum of his functions and no more? Even on Harry's darkest days, and there had been many this year, he'd never thought of doing himself in. But he knew that he was loved, knew that he meant something to others. Did Snape not feel that way? Harry stubbornly fanned the flames of his own anger, not ready to concede. He would not be understanding, he would not be sympathetic, he would not allow clemency for this most grave of insults.

As soon as he was cautiously optimistic that he was capable of walking back up to the castle, Harry sat up and shakily got to his feet. Snape sat up, as well, but seemed slower to recover, his head hanging and his breath still labored. He wanted to say something kind, something conciliatory, but his temper bested any lenience. He attempted to storm off, but the steepness of the slope prevented his heading back directly. He opted to seek the main entrance by a longer, but flatter route.

Morgan Hunter heard footsteps coming up from the lake and immediately was on her guard, wand drawn. She dashed behind an outcropping of boulders and crouched down, muscles tense and ready to spring. Had someone invaded the school grounds? Was some creature on the loose? Her senses were alert and her heart raced. She put up mental defences, as well, in case her consciousness should give away her presence. The energy for defensive magic was coursing through her, ready to blast through her wand in an instant if she were provoked. She waited silently as the footsteps grew nearer.

Then two figures passed her, still silent. All pretense of a guarded consciousness gave way. Did her eyes deceive her? How could he possibly be so deceptive? Severus and Sybill Trelawney, in a wholly unprofessional clutch, walking back to the castle, clinging to each other as though their lives depended on it. As though they were the students' age. He'd snuck out of the castle during the all-school assembly to take advantage of a few moments alone with his new lover. They'd been so discreet that there had been no rumors that she'd heard of this pairing. Hunter couldn't believe her eyes.


	28. Chapter 28: Drying Out

**Hello, patient readers. Thanks for staying with me. Busy times here, as well as at Hogwarts. I've been enjoying your reviews and I look forward to more. Please keep them coming! -DN**

"You had a vision, I take it?" Snape asked, once they'd settled into chairs by a roaring fire in the Headmaster's office. He'd sent the house elves scurrying, with commands to stoke the fire in the Gryffindor common room and a set of orders to Neville and Ron to assure Harry's continued recovery, and to alert Madam Pomfrey at any sign of trouble, on threat of experiencing his displeasure. What shape that might take against wizards fully of age was anyone's guess, but the admonition served to underscore the urgency of their duty. Messages were sent to teachers to excuse their absence from afternoon classes.

Trelawney nodded in silence as he tossed into the fire several pieces of parchment securely sealed with a green silk cord and a green wax seal. Each scroll released a shower of green and silver sparks as it burned, leaving behind no trace.

"The girl again? In the lake?"

"Yes, Severus."

He watched the fire intently, lest any portion of the scrolls remain, then drew his heavy woollen cloak around him, trapping the warmth from the blaze in a futile effort to drive out the memory in his bones of the coldness of the water. And the coldness from Harry. He would eventually need to approach him for some kind of reconciliation, some kind of forgiveness, but the way to start was not at all clear. A gift of some kind, chocolate frogs? A particularly interesting or useful potion? A magical instrument? Twelve inches of parchment on the proper relationship between a godfather and godson? He could easily summon him to his office, but a different approach, a more equitable approach, seemed in order. Though their relationship was to be as father and son, Harry was hardly a child anymore. He was both older than a student should be, and far more experienced, having lived through these times.

And Morgan. The path ahead wasn't clear with her, either. If he really was to face his future, and on this point he no longer had a choice, he would have to attempt to win her back, whatever it took. He no longer believed she was seeking him only to secure her fortune, for if that were so, she would have either continued her pursuit of him or sought another, and he'd seen neither of those. She had kept her distance since their parting, tolerating his presence only for the necessary visits from Winder and Alexander. She no longer traveled, nor did she visit Hogsmeade on weekends. Most importantly, she had said it wasn't so. He despaired to think how much damage he'd done with his accusations and invasions, how few reasons he'd given her to trust him, and how little he had to offer her.

 _Poor, ugly, greasy, damaged schoolmaster, locked for the next 50 years in a prison disguised as a school in the Scottish Highlands, seeks companionship and commitment. Ineloquent, suspicious, surly, solitary, demanding, but good with a cauldron. Handy to have around should you need to duel._

He would seek her out as soon as he regained his strength but before he lost his nerve. His stomach turned at the thought of venturing into this territory yet again, one in which his skills and talents were poorly prepared and little used. And never successful. Manipulation, deception, insults, these he had mastered. Pathological ambition, hunger for power, disregard for others he understood well. Even with Dumbledore, every discussion was another move in Wizard Chess. But attraction? Loyalty, yes. Friendship, not as much. Possessiveness, yes. Love? Only from one side.

Why not make use of his talent, a potion of some kind to smooth the path? Perhaps some Felix Felicis minor? Ah, but the luck would fade, and a witch with her skills would be likely to notice the traces of it. A Boldness Booster seemed a bit amateurish and difficult to mask. Even his most potent potions wouldn't do what really needed to be done. They might affect her mind for a short time, but he needed to move her heart. He would map out a course once his head cleared. And his belly settled.

What to do with the remaining vials of poison, now sealed in a locked and charmed cabinet? Destroy or reserve? Certainly not for his own use, but powerful potions like this one were rare. He didn't need to decide now; the decision could wait. He had other things on his mind, other plans to put into place as soon as he could think them through.

Trelawney had waited as long as she was able before being moved to speak. Her voice was uncharacteristically steady and strong, her features and shaking hands belying anger rather than nervousness beneath the control of her words.

"I will not pry into your personal affairs, Severus, nor ask you why you did this," she began tersely, echoing the tones more common to Minerva McGonegall. "I know you had your reasons, despite the efforts that were made to save your life by so many, including myself. I will only say this: Had you been successful, you would have ruined the future, and not just for yourself. You must not know how much respect you have here to think that you could simply be replaced." She paused before her rising tone became a screech, considering whether to stop here or continue. She poured herself another generous glass of wine, wishing it were sherry instead of Bordeaux, as Snape looked away with a silent glare cast elsewhere, his jaw clenched in displeasure. After allowing a swallow of the ruby-colored liquid to sink in, she continued, her voice more quiet now.

"You aren't the only one, you know." Snape cast his steely glare back to her, but she continued as though she didn't notice. "Several of us get together in Hogsmeade from time to time to try to figure out what to do with ourselves. How to stop the nightmares, how to stop the thoughts about those we've lost. How to figure out what to do with the rest of our lives." She leaned forward, trying to meet the eyes of the headmaster, who returned his pointedly to the fire. "It's especially difficult for Madam Pomfrey, you know. She cared for every person who was injured and tried her best to save every person, witch, wizard or elf, who died. You were one of her few and greatest successes in days filled with losses. Even now, students come to her for help with depression and nightmares, so she's still treating the casualties of the war."

Snape remained impassive. "She hasn't asked me for Pepper-Up or SlumberBliss potions."

Trelawney held back a dismissive snort by turning it into a sniff, which failed to disguise its original intention. "She doesn't treat them that way, by simply masking the emotion or delaying their effects until the next morning. Her treatments involve friends and family, talking about how they feel, and finding others who know what it feels like. Once they feel like they can talk about these feelings and find a willing and supportive circle to trust, it goes a long way for their recovery. But it takes time."

He pondered this as he took another sip of wine, the liquid warming him from within. Indeed, he did not know what efforts had been made nor by whom to aid in his overcoming death. He'd been too focused on the mermaid girl and what her presence meant to give much thought to the specifics of what had occurred. He had woken to several students and staff, but what they had done in his aid, he had been too spent to ask at the time and too focused on the things ahead to ask later. Clearly, Poppy had been instrumental in his long recovery in the Hospital Wing, more so than he wished at the time. To ask what had come before, between Nagini's fangs and his regaining consciousness in the Great Hall, seemed intrusive. He doubted he would truly want to know himself. Few wanted to talk about the past, but instead to simply move on to better things ahead, to resume an air of normalcy.

But this was an illusion. Despite the resumption of classes, teachers teaching and students learning (to some small degree, as usual), everything was transformed. Even if the castle were to be fully restored, leaving no trace of the damage visible, every witch and wizard within would still know what had happened, would still retain within their own healed exteriors the wounds of war. Given enough time and money, the walls and windows could be repaired, but what would it take to heal those within?

His plan, had he completed it, would have served to further the trauma of those around him, Harry to the greatest degree. He'd been a fool, self-absorbed to such a dangerous degree that he'd neglected the core of his Binding, to be as a father to Harry, which should mean a good deal more than signing forms. Yes, he would need to go to Morgan, to see if it were possible to heal what he'd broken between them. But it was Harry who needed him most, to whom he owned the greater debt.

How to heal himself? To reach out and open himself to others as Sybill was suggesting was impossible. Clearly, not doing so carried risks of its own. Where to even start? He took another sip of wine and allowed the heat from the fire to gather further.

"I shall take your advice into consideration, Sybill," he said, still staring into the fire as though reading a book on its flames. "And thank you for your spells and transfiguration. Had we been left with only mine, Harry and I would likely both be frozen fish fillets."

He would seek out Harry as soon as they both had thawed, tonight if possible. Schoolwork could wait. Perhaps over a meal here, lacking any other private but more neutral location. What he would say he hadn't yet planned, but the truth seemed the best option. He prepared to endure Harry's righteous rant, to the point of predicting his words ("after all we did to save you" "ungrateful" "her blood" "cowardly"). His stomach yet again turned at the thought, at the truth in such words. The thought of a meal with Harry began to have a bit less appeal.

Next, he would go to Morgan. He would tell her everything, beg for forgiveness (again), do anything she asked. Anything. Just to have a second chance. Well, a third chance. He'd bring wine, flowers.

The chill in his bones was beginning to subside with the passing of time and his beginning to bring his plans into sharper focus. First, he would need to clean himself up considerably, get the smell of lake slime off himself. He finished the wine, set the glass aside and stood.

Just as Trelawney stood, there was the sound of the door opening and quick footsteps up the spiral staircase. No one, it seemed, even simply allowed themselves to be elevated by the stairs alone. And whoever this was, they certainly did not feel the need for an invitation to enter.

Minerva McGonagall noticed the presence of the Divination professor with mild surprise and the condition and smell of the Headmaster with raised eyebrows, but asked no questions, for she was far too intent on her purpose to be put off.

She held out a large scroll of parchment tied with a dark forest green ribbon that had been sealed with wax that Snape recognized. "This just came in the morning owls, from Arboreus Hobble."

"I see that," Snape noted. "What does he have to say?" It seemed rather bulky to be anything relating to he and Harry and the college situation, or about his own fortune, which was nearly non-existent. Perhaps something about his sentence? But why would Minerva have opened anything intended for him?

"Read it for yourself, Severus," she said enigmatically, thrusting the parchment to him.

He took the scroll in hand. He considered seating himself at the desk, but still the lure of the warmth of the fire was too great. With a wave of his wand, he drew a third chair up to the circle by the blaze and they all sat. Cautiously, he began to read the scroll aloud.

Despite the large size and thick weight of the parchment, the message was a short one.

" _To the Attention of the Deputy Headmaster and Treasurer of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry:_

 _I have the pleasure of communicating my receipt today of a gift to Hogwarts in the amount of 19,601,900 galleons. The donor wishes to remain anonymous._

 _The gift is given with no specifications as to a particular purpose, no request for naming, and is currently residing in the school's depository at Gringott's Bank._

 _Should you wish to discuss further the disposition of this sizable sum, I remain ever yours,_

 _Arboreus Hobble, Esq."_

It was an incredibly short letter summarizing an incredible sum of money.

He felt the ribbon and examined the wax seal. Certainly Hobble's, or a remarkably good forgery. He ran his hands over the ink and felt the familiar jaunty vibe of the young advocate, clearly pleased to be in possession of good news for once. "Do you have any idea who the donor is?" he finally asked, after silently re-reading it three times to be sure he hadn't left out any words.

McGonagall smiled while shaking her head. "None. I don't know of any family, allies or Dark Wizards, with this kind of money to give," she replied.

Snape concurred. "I doubt even the Malfoys can claim that much, and they have been rather chilly towards Hogwarts of late. They favor Durmstrang these days…" He took a couple of breaths. "And you've verified with Gringott's…"

"Of course," she replied.

All three sat in silence, in wonder at where this windfall had come from. Snape's mind raced ahead. It was the solution to all his problems. Not only could he now finish the repairs on the school, he could offer Morgan a permanent job and at a far more respectable salary. He could repair Slughorn's old classroom and give her more space. A better apartment, rather than her small rooms in the dungeon. This would be a brilliant way to begin their conversation, for he now had a perfect reason to summon her. He would start with the offer, then offer his apologies, beg for her forgiveness, whatever it took. But at least this would get her attention, get things started.

McGonagall broke the silence. "Shall I summon the builders?"

Hunter had decided. Her time outside, connected to the earth, had helped order her thoughts enough such that her swirling thoughts subsided. She would endure until the end of term, then it was time to go. How Hogwarts would manage to teach potions next year was no longer her problem. She needed to take care of herself and move on.

Once she'd made her decision, things seemed to get better from there. She was now focused on the next stage of her life, her next adventure. Every action got her closer to that goal. She dedicated herself to her work, locking herself in the dungeons, grading papers, assessing potions, and finishing what had been started but incomplete from before. She inventoried her stores, tapping charms onto her personal items for easy summoning when the time came. Cauldrons lined up by size. Equipment cleaned. Books, dwarfing her up the walls of this tiny, closet-like office, organized and catalogued. Everything just waiting for her order.

In her small, dark apartment, she glanced over the new clothes she'd bought for the year, the heavy robes, hats, and thick-soled shoes. They were beautiful, but now unnecessary. Perhaps she'd leave them behind or make a donation. Some witch would be very lucky. She went to her trunk that contained her desert robes. Soft fabrics, thin and airy. Turquoise, rose pink, lime green, some with flowers, some with the symbols of minerals, many with holes worn through from years of wear and miles of walks by cactuses and spiny scrub. It would be a simple matter of "Reparo" to fix them, but she liked their worn personalities, each tear reminding her of who she'd been with and how the day had been when the fabric was rent. All of them well-worn and comfortable, their colors muted from many seasons of washing followed by drying in the desert heat and sun. Her hats, broad-brimmed, made of straw, hadn't fared well in the dampness that was Hogwarts. This damage she felt no desire to retain or treasure. With a sharp snap of her wrist, the weave righted itself and stiffened, back to it original curve. She pulled the orange ribbon under her chin, tied it, and took a look in her mirror. The hat looked great, but the witch underneath was pale, with contrasting darkness under her eyes. But this wouldn't last long, not once the days warmed up. Her teaching plans evolved to include outdoor activities, like harvesting plants, gathering minerals, and capturing bugs, worms, and other creatures. As little that required time in the dungeons as possible and as much time spent standing on dirt as possible.

Once she got back to the desert, she imagined herself rising before dawn, the first rays from the east striking her skin. She would stay out until nearly mid-day, warming herself like a snake before retreating to the shade to study, write, brew. Then rest until nightfall and take in the sounds and sights of a desert alive. She set the hat aside in a large hatbox and put the cover on.

She wrote a series of short, uninformative letters, notifying her friends of her plans and reasons.

" _Dear Cassie,_

 _I shall be returning to Sedona very shortly, but not to teach at the academy. Things here at Hogwarts have not turned out as planned, despite my hopes. The desert is the best place for me to be to take the next steps in my journey. I hope you'll find time to see me when I get there. I'll arrive in June._

 _M.H."_

She wrote a series of letters in a similar vein, rolled the small scrolls, and sealed each with her turquoise wax. She would send them just after she gave her notice, prior to the weekend. By the end of the school year, she would need only wave her wand to pack her things, and go.

The desert. The heat and sun would warm her, the energy from the earth and her friends would heal her. She might not wear shoes until the winter. Thinking of summer days spent in the cool of a stone house with deep walls and nights under a carpet of stars. The Sedona school astronomy faculty would be done teaching in the summer and spend their time observing, planning, and recording. She thought of Phillipus and his maps. She'd carry one, share it with them, and let his presence, still within it, fill her. She got out one of his maps from her most secure case and held it. She could still feel his magic in it, though it was beginning to fade a bit. She rolled his wand in her hands, noting its mourning its owner. She would return to his grave, plant the wand there, reunite them. She'd been selfish to take this piece of him with her, but she couldn't see that at the time. She would return and make it right, set the stars back into alignment. Severus was an amazing wizard, but there would be others. It was time to move on.


	29. Chapter 29: Out

**Good evening/morning/day, readers. I've gotten a lot of encouragement from reviews, favorites, and followers. It is so needed. I've been struggling to fit writing in with the rest of my absurd life, but it is so nice to know I'm not just here sending things into a black hole. Thanks for letting me know you are here, reading, and wanting to finish the story. I'd love to hear what others have done with their stories when they finish writing. My daughter and I plan to make some drawings to go with each chapter and print and bind this. What have you done with yours? Just pixels?**

 **Hunter finds herself unable to remain the calm rational person she thinks herself to be. And Snape? Difficulty seems to find him, even when he tried to hide.**

 **Enjoy! DN**

Hunter approached Snape's classroom slowly and quietly Thursday afternoon, watching until all the students from the 8th year Advanced class had exited and cleared the corridor. She had awoken that morning feeling her confidence cracking somewhat, now that the time to confront him had arrived. It was one thing to write out a resignation, another to hand it to your boss who'd been your...what? Lover? That was a bit much. Boyfriend? Not at this age. More than a professional colleague, but what had they been to one another? Had he ever expressed an intention? Not really. He hadn't even said he missed her when she was gone, only that their work went better when she was there.

Their weekly oversight visit with Parse and Hypatia earlier in the day had unsettled her feelings again. She could more easily deny to herself how she felt, until she was forced into his presence. This week was no exception. Her longing returned; she found herself hesitant to take the steps to commit to leaving at the end of the school year. The letters were not yet sent, her words of resignation not yet spoken. She questioned herself yet again. Was this the right decision? Minerva had encouraged her to pursue him if she felt strongly. But the humiliation of his rejection would pack more sting than a hex or jinx. Yet, what would it really mean? She could then leave at the end of the year, secure in the knowledge that this was not to be, no doubts left over. Love requires two to be something more than obsession. It also requires trust, which was not in great supply in either of them. He clearly had no trust in her to believe the lies in the newspapers, despite her explanations. For her part, could she trust him, given his suspicious nature? All the rumors swirling, and the things she'd seen herself? She could barely trust her own eyes anymore.

Even if she succeeded in some kind of reconciliation, would he be worthy, or had their relationship been damaged beyond repair? How much more distressing would it be to dare to try, succeed, only to discover what you thought you wanted was an illusion? That you could never return to what you had before, even if both of you agreed to attempt it?

And then there was the small matter of her job, which ended at the end of this school term. Nothing had been said from the Headmaster or the Deputy Headmistress about her staying on for any longer. If, by some piece of unprecedented magic, she was able to have some kind of relationship with Severus, she had no job. She needed to think of her career, which was losing momentum by the day as it was. The pieces weren't fitting together well.

At the meeting with the Minister of Education, Severus' mood seemed odd, changed. He seemed concurrently tired and restless, and more solicitous to the Ministers, both the Minister and his Deputy. Parse, recognizing some change in Severus' mood, regarded him more suspiciously than ever.

By the time lunch (a hot lunch of roasted chicken and spaetzel instead of the ploughman's lunch that had become the standard) was being served, Hunter had lost all appetite and chose to remain in her office, continuing to catch up on grading, trying to still her shaking hand. The time to make her announcement and confront the unspoken end of her contract here was drawing near. She set down her quill and gave herself some time to think. She heard the compelling voice of Minerva in her head. "He clearly meant something to you." "What have you got to lose?" Nothing. If he were to try to hex her again, she could easily defend herself. The worst that could happen was nothing, she already knew that. She prepared her heart for that.

And so she was stalking him outside his classroom after his advanced class, hoping to catch him alone for a moment. She gave plenty of time for all the students to turn the corner and start up the stairs from the dungeons. Hesitating further, she worked up her courage. Surely he would be leaving himself at any moment. Perhaps he was starting to grade papers. But dinner was going to be served shortly. Pacing a bit more, she resolved to say what needed to be said before making them both late for dinner and therefore the object of speculation and rumor. She approached the heavy oaken door with trepidation.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Snape gathered the parchments piled on his desk. The 7th and 8th years had departed, depositing on his desk before they exited their last pre-N.E.W.T. essay on antidotes for bezoar-resistant poisons, a topic that was invariably covered on the exam (or at least had been for the previous 48 years). He debated having the students test their antidotes on one another in the next class, but dreaded the ire of Madam Pomfrey if anyone's poison wasn't brewed correctly, thus yielding something even more resistant to antidote. That had only occurred once, some years before, but he recalled her verbal flaying and Dumbledore's as though it had happened yesterday. He had enjoyed the anxiety on students' faces, wondering if they'd made both poison and antidote correctly, now that their friends' fates rested on their skills (or lack thereof). There was little that was more motivating to excellence and conscientiousness than great danger. His own antidotes were sufficient to overcome whatever was lacking in student formulations, but such a teaching technique seemed a bit beyond the pale for a Headmaster. He'd changed his lesson plan according to his new position, yet again chafing at the constraints of leadership.

That decision made, he packed the parchments in his case and made ready to finish the day in his office, knowing that grading those essays later this evening would bring him no pleasure, when the Parkinson girl and her lackey, the Bulstrode girl, approached his desk. He eyed them warily without rising.

"There is no need to dawdle, Miss Bulstrode, Miss Parkinson. Hand in those essays and get to dinner," he said commandingly.

 _Merlin's beard, I can't believe he still talks down to me this way,_ thought Pansy. _That won't last, though._ She stepped around the desk awkwardly and leaned toward him just as the other girl withdrew a camera from her school bag, the flash blinding him in the dark dungeon.

Snape leaped up quickly, knocking his chair back, eyes blazing, wand drawn, a defensive spell cast.

She grinned maliciously, her wand also drawn. "Did you get it, Millie?" The other girl nodded vigorously, showing the print to Pansy, whose grin expanded further. "Perfect," she muttered, barely looking at the image. "All she has to do is utter one charm and Rita Skeeter will have it, too." She then turned to the Potions Master, who sat now, eyeing her with fear.

"Miss Parkinson, what have you done?" he said imploringly.

Pansy folded her hands over her chest, drinking in the scene. Her, lording over him. "I've just bought myself some leverage with the Malfoys." She half sat on his desk, eyeing him with contempt. "You and your Muggle-loving friends ruined my family and my future. Draco Malfoy was practically eating from my hands before the war. Now the only reason I could even finish school was because going here was so cheap this year. But it will pay off for me," she said with a snort. Millicent joined her, grinning like a vapid fool.

"Pansy, please," he said, his voice quivering slightly.

 _Begging already? Using my given name? Won't help a bit. My, how fast the tables can turn…_ She cut him off. "Once another incriminating, inappropriate photo of you and a student gets out, with a lurid story to go with it, Parse Winder will have no choice, will he? Parents will be having fits, sending the Ministry Howlers or worse, threatening to withhold funding. You'll lose your job, lose the hope of getting one elsewhere, too. Who'd hire a professor with such a nasty reputation?" She turned to Millicent. "And that was even BEFORE the articles in the _Daily Prophet!_ " They both broke into laughter as Snape's eyes burned.

Defeating him had been disgustingly easy. Now that the war was over, he was a washed-up shell, worthless and weak, slow-witted and dull. Her instincts had been right. Had she known how easy this would be, she would have spent less time rehearsing the plot with Millicent. She'd even missed a Hogsmeade weekend getting the timing right. Thankfully, Professor Snape had been spending less time in Slytherin House. If he had any idea what they'd been up to. Pansy turned back to him, grinning victoriously. "And dear Dr. Hunter. She'll fly from here as fast as her broom can take her, if she's smart. Someone like that, who could even tolerate you, comes along once in a lifetime. If this photo gets out, that will be the end of hope for you two love-birds." She leaned over the slumping wizard. "And if me or my wand is hexed, the camera is charmed to send the image directly to Rita Skeeter. I don't even need to write up a story to go with it. She'll be able to come up with something interesting without my help. So I suggest you do as I say."

The only sound in the deep chamber was the crackling of the flames from the torches on the walls. Without meeting her eyes, he asked dully "What do you want?" defeat hanging off every word.

Pansy stood up straight again and sneered at him in disgust, tossing her hair. "She's made you soft, Severus."

"That's…" he began to growl, gritting his teeth.

"Severus," she replied firmly, narrowing her eyes. "And she has. You used to have more fight in you before. Everyone else still thinks you do, but I'm not fooled. Defeated by a teenaged witch, seriously. I can't believe how easy it is. You'll come with me to Malfoy Manor this weekend and turn yourself over to Narcissa. She's been waiting to take her revenge on you since the end of the war. And once I turn you over, I get my reward."

"Draco."

"Precisely."

"I'm not allowed to leave the school. It's a provision of my sentencing…"

She stood over him, wand held menacingly in one hand. "You can, on school business if you are supervised by tenured faculty. Oh yes, my talents extend to being able to read the papers. Figure it out. Arrange a Portkey for Millie and I from behind the Hog's Head to the alley a block from Malfoy Manor. And for Merlin's sake, dress yourself better. For a wedding."

He nodded mutely, jaw set. She rolled her eyes, backed away, her wand still held tightly until she reached the door. _Ridiculous, just ridiculous. Wait until word spread that the great Severus Snape, War Hero and Headmaster of Hogwarts, was bested by a student who hadn't even graduated yet._ She idly wondered if all the stories of his great heroism had simply been lies and exaggerations. But then her head filled with images of herself hosting gatherings of the important witches and wizards at Malfoy Manor, securing a lofty position within the right circles. With skills like hers, she could probably even dominate Draco... The future was bright, indeed.

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Taking a last deep breath before entering, Hunter heard the voices of two lingering students and stopped short, jumping behind the heavy dungeon door as it squealed on its hinges. She should have turned around and headed back up to dinner, as it would be a little awkward to be found here in the hall outside the classroom for no obvious reason, but something in the girls' tone made her stay and listen as they stopped and turned back to speak to Professor Snape.

"A wedding this weekend, then?"

"If everything is in order, Miss Parkinson," Snape's voice said tiredly. "And I'm sure it is."

The girl's voice fairly bubbled over with a kind of dangerous excitement. "I've been waiting for this for months. She'll be sooooo pleased, 'Professor Snape.' I've planned out everything."

Snape's voice lacked the excitement of the girl's. He spoke even more slowly than his usual languid pace. "No doubt you have, as clever as you are."

Hunter heard a kind of final, dismissive tone in Snape's reply and the shuffle of his chair moving as he stood. Knowing the students would be exiting in a moment, she stepped into a shadowy nook and cast a shadow charm over herself, waiting for the girls to pass. Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode, two Slytherin girls, strode up the corridor towards the stairs, their heads together. "A wedding at Malfoy Manor," Millicent said, more greedily than dreamily. "I can't believe it."

Hunter felt a sinking in her stomach. Snape had been talking about his wedding, for this weekend. But she had no time to think further. Snape emerged shortly thereafter. He glanced around the halls, but his eyes did not hesitate on her, still shadowed. He began walking slowly towards the Great Hall for dinner, hands clasped behind his back. She stood stock still, holding her breath, until he'd mounted the stairs and vanished from her view.

By now Hunter had changed her mind about speaking to him privately. The rush of emotion that confronted her took her by surprise. She opted to take dinner in her own room instead to think this over.

As she sat alone, eating lasagna without actually tasting it despite its excellent quality, she took stock of her situation. Snape was already pledged to someone else and would be married this weekend. That explained a lot: his unwillingness to further their relationship and the ease with which he had ended it; the recent presence of his lawyer, Arboreus Hobble. Perhaps he was pledged to someone wealthy, connected with this Malfoy family, to make up for his own lack of money, which he had seemed fixated on. That would go a long way to explaining his accusations of her. People often deflected their own guilt by accusing others of what they themselves were guilty of.

Perhaps it wasn't a love match. His tone and body language suggested dread in far greater measure than joy. Those girls from his house seemed far more pleased at the prospect of his wedding than he himself did. Maybe he allowed himself to become involved with her as a kind of "final fling" before he was bound in marriage.

Who could it be? Snape almost never left the school, not even to go to Hogsmeade. The only time she could remember involved banking at Gringotts for Hogwarts, and he had gone with Hagrid. Imaging him visiting his sweetheart in Hagrid's presence was comical. But perhaps Hagrid had other things to do there, leaving Snape free to conduct his personal business without interference. Hypatia Alexander only visited once a week, and nearly always with Parse Winder. Despite whatever glances they might trade, there was never any time for them to be alone. Maybe a series of letters?

Rumors about various witches on the staff had circulated like Chocolate Frog trading cards since January, but it all seemed so unlikely. She'd never seen Sinistra in the dungeons except for the one time. And despite her having seen him with Trelawney, that simply seemed too bizarre to be real. Imagining a witch on the staff less suited to him was impossible.

That being said, the true crux of the problem was, it wasn't her.

Regardless of what she'd told herself, what she's tried to believe, she still was drawn to him. Minerva was right. He had meant something to her, far more than she could admit. There were plenty of other wizards, many of whom had attractive qualities. Handsome, skilled, ambitious, mannerly, any number of fine qualities. But they were dull to her. Severus, for all his offenses and challenges, was compelling, with an intensity that she'd only rarely seen in another.

Hunter sat in self-pity for some time, disgusted with her own wallowing. She ached for a return to the few short weeks after the Halloween Ball when she had declared her feelings and had felt sure that he felt the same. They had little time alone, but the walks they had taken in the autumn woods had been enjoyable. Delightful was not a word she could apply to Severus. Nor were they especially revealing, taking place mostly in silent companionship broken by discussion of plants, insects, and other ingredients for potions. Perhaps she was only projecting her feelings on him in desperation. He hadn't actually said he loved her, or even that he liked her. He only said that their work went better when she was there. Still, it seemed he felt something for her. The walks in the woods and around the lake were not for the purpose of gathering supplies. Well, not solely for that purpose, surely. Though he did seem to always have a ready vial tucked in a pocket to gather what useful plants, insects, or creatures they might come across. Despite this, she felt sure there was something there, some feeling. Their research time. Was he only using her emotions to increase her willingness to devote more time to it, to further his own ambitions? It never felt like deception at the time, but the events since he broke it off made her question every moment they'd shared.

She needed to witness this wedding that he had mentioned to no one. To see for herself who this mystery witch could be. To get a least a few answers to the hundreds of questions that swirled in her head.

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The coming weekend was a Hogsmeade weekend for students, the last one before N.E.W.T.s. The glorious spring sun melted the last of the snow and ice and drew the few remaining underclass students outside, leaving the castle largely empty. She found it difficult to keep track of him after breakfast that Saturday morning without being obvious. She had a few conversations with the other professors in the corridor that led to the bridge to Hogsmeade, but it wasn't long before Filch finished checking his list of students who had permission to go and who did not, and the staff chaperones. Everyone had vanished, either into town or back to their houses for studying. Neither Millicent nor Pansy were about, but this was not surprising, given the crush of students eager to spend some time on their own in the village.

Abandoning her post near the bridge to the village, she headed down to her office and classroom. What business was it of hers, anyhow? He was free to do as pleased. He had never made any promise to her nor misled her into thinking he was more committed than he was (not with words, in any case). She would have to follow through on her other plans, for once the marriage bond was made, it could never be broken, until death. No matter what she wanted, he would shortly be out of her reach. She would respect the bond.

Staring into the darkness at the end of the corridor, she tried to remember her state of mind before starting here at Hogwarts, before meeting the enigmatic Headmaster. Her former mental state was difficult to remember. But it did cause her to remember the scrolls she'd meant to send after she announced her plans to resign at the end of term. She gathered them and made to go to the Owlery.

She was just passing outside the Headmaster's office when the door opened and Snape emerged, his face more pale than usual in the dim torch light of the corridor, his hair neatly pulled back and secured with a black leather tie and his suit freshly cleaned. Hunter jumped back behind the suit of armor away from the main door and placed a Camouflage charm on herself to blend with the shadows. How fortunate she'd spent time mastering this one! Who knew she'd need it as much as an adult as she did as a trouble-making student. She placed one foot forward to follow behind him, but was interrupted by the emergence from the office of Trelawney, fastening her cape over a flowing outfit of purple and orange. Hunter had long assumed that she could not see herself very well in a mirror, explaining her usual daily appearance, her hair poorly contained, her clothes mismatched. But she was clearly making an effort today. Her hair that usually sprang out in every direction was now bound in a crown around her head and her glasses, usually so smudged as to be opaque, now had been cleaned and were crystal clear. She seemed nervous, giddy even.

Snape offered her his arm, which she took with an anxious smile, and they proceeded down the hall. As they passed, Hunter was surprised to smell his scent, not of potions and brewing, but instead, of soap and shampoo. He'd really made an effort today. The pair continued toward the bridge to Hogsmeade.

Hunter finally dropped the camouflage charm and began to breathe again. Severus was leaving for Hogsmeade with Trelawney. _They_ were to wed today at Malfoy Manor? This was incredible.

As she made her own way into the village, she continued to reiterate her confusion in a list of facts, for and against this possibility. As far as she knew, Trelawney was unmarried, but otherwise she couldn't bring to mind what Severus would see in her. She wasn't especially bright or witty, but mostly withdrawn except to offer dour predictions of doom based on the stars, the planets, or tea leaves. That being said, everyone on staff did treat her with a respect that seemed outsized to her talent. In staff meetings, Severus was uncharacteristically patient in allowing Trelawney time to speak and be heard, though he wasn't so reluctant to cut off others if he disagreed. One _would_ expect some degree of favoritism, especially if you were pledged. She might make his life difficult if he treated her with disrespect. If Trelawney had money, she might threaten to break the pledge before the wedding. And Hunter had to admit to herself, Snape was not likely to be very successful in the marriage marketplace outside the walls of Hogwarts. Poor, sour, little effort put into flattery. It had taken working with him, seeing his mind at work, to get her attention. Few others would ever get that insight. And few others might appreciate his challenging personality enough to tolerate the rest of the general difficulty it came packaged with. Chances were that he was aware of this. But Magical bindings and marriages were based on many things other than love and attraction; things like family interrelationships, money, influence, ambition, or pledges of parents. Some married for love alone, but usually it was more complex than that.

Hunter's usual feelings of not fitting in on this side of the pond washed over her, and she felt her naivete with a surge of nearly physical pain. She was familiar with who the older families were in the US and who had influence and power in the US Magical Council, but this was of somewhat less importance there. Here, she suddenly became aware that there were layers and layers of history and relationships that she knew very little about, which influenced everything and everyone around her. And Severus Snape was to be married to Sibyl Trelawney, today, at Malfoy Manor, for reasons she couldn't imagine. She needed to find out where Malfoy Manor was, and get there fast. What she would do exactly when she arrived, she didn't yet know. The ceremony would be highly unlikely to feature an exposition on the reasons for the marriage. But she felt compelled to follow the couple as best she could, to see with her own eyes the end of her hopes and plans.


	30. Chapter 30: Vow

**And more greetings to my far-flung readers. Hi, Sri Lanka, Estonia, Chile, Lithuania, Vietnam, Argentina. Bahamas, too. I couldn't just leave you hanging. Or could i?**

 **Enjoy,**

 **DN**

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Snape and Trelawney Apparated with a slight "pop" on a side street a few blocks away from the Malfoy's imposing and gloomy mansion, trying not to draw undue attention to themselves as they waited in the cold morning air for Pansy and Millicent to arrive by Portkey, neither of them being especially skilled at Apparition to do so confidently without Squinching. After a short time, Snape opted to sit on a nearby bench to wait out their expected companions. After about 15 minutes, the two arrived, holding the edges of a broken umbrella, which they hid carefully under a cardboard box.

Snape did not rise immediately. "So, Miss Parkinson, you are certain this is your wish?"

Pansy relished being able to return the sneer she had seen so often on his face. Funny how much more powerful the threat of bad publicity was as compared to curses and hexes. She kept her hand in contact with her wand, but doubted she'd even need to draw it. She hadn't threatened his person, just his reputation. "The chance to see you suffer like you've made my family suffer? Before the war, I had everything going my way. Draco was mine and the Malfoy fortune would one day come to me and my children. But then we had our fortune confiscated, my mother in prison on trumped up charges, just so the Ministry could get its slimy hands on our money. And suddenly the Malfoys couldn't even remember who we were. Of course, I'm ready. I'm ready to get back what we've lost, thanks to Muggle-loving wizards like you," she said fiercely, her hand drifting towards her wand.

Trelawney sucked in her breath in shock that anyone would speak to the Headmaster, a hero at the battle of Hogwarts, in this way, let alone a student, but Snape held up a pale hand to silence her.

"Everyone loses in war, even those on the winning side, Miss Parkinson," he said quietly.

"Don't give me your simplistic empty phrases, Snape! Nothing has changed for you at all. You even got to keep your position by some miracle. Well, I intend to reclaim what's mine. And you either help me, or I'll be sure you lose your beloved Headmastership." Now she approached him closely, above him as he remained seated, speaking softly and threateningly. "What school would hire a teacher with such a bad reputation, especially with his female students? You'll be forced to run a shop, making Hair Potions and Beauty Tonics just to keep a roof over your head. All it would take is that one picture finding its way to the _Daily Prophet_ , where I'm sure you know they have less interest in truth than in scandal. The Ministry would feel compelled to follow through after the other recent incident. After your quick maneuvers before your trial, they just need a reason, any reason, to sack you, and I'll give it to them if I need to. Do what you're told, Snape."

Snape said nothing, but rose, now towering above her. She snorted, then turned and briskly led the way toward Malfoy Manor, Millicent, Trelawney and Snape behind her.

Narcissa Malfoy was stunned to see the assembly in her drawing room. "Severus Snape," she said icily, her voice dripping with insincerity. She paced around him, sizing him up, Lucius Malfoy standing aside. "What an unexpected pleasure. And Miss Parkinson, what brings you here with your friend?" She did not acknowledge Trelawney, a breach of etiquette that Sibyl opted not to mention, staying in the shadows behind Snape's robes as best she could as Narcissa continued her intrusive observations.

Snape allowed Pansy to do the talking, which she was altogether too pleased to do. "I captured him for you, Mrs. Malfoy, just as you asked. And now that I've brought you Snape, I expect you to keep up your end of our bargain."

Narcissa glanced at Lucius and put a long-fingered hand to her neck, where color was rising, gripping the oversized black pearls so tightly Trelawney thought the cord might break. "Pansy, I had no idea you'd ever be successful. The good professor has avoided a visit for a very long time, despite my numerous invitations. But here you are, Severus, along with your protector. It is as though you don't trust me," she said, casting him a sour look.

"My trust in the Malfoy family has not changed, Narcissa," Snape said, wobbling slightly on his feet.

Narcissa looked at him questioningly. "Are you not well? Please, sit down, you look tired. And weak," she pointed out maliciously. "Get him a chair, Lucius."

At this, Snape glared, but accepted the wing chair Lucius conjured nearest the roaring fire, drawing his robes around him, and resting his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, the very picture of defeat. Pansy and Millicent wore twin sneers, as Trelawney hovered behind, pacing with concern in her large, magnified eyes.

Pansy brought the focus back to herself. "So, Mrs. Malfoy. I understand Draco is home from Durmstrang this weekend. I'd like to see him," she said, not in the tone of a request, but as an order.

Narcissa gave Lucius an imploring glance. "Summon Draco, Lucius. Let him know Miss Parkinson is here to see him." The tall, silver-blond wizard hesitated before casting a Summoning Charm. The rapid footsteps of Draco could be heard shortly thereafter, their pace matching the agitation in the young wizard's voice.

"What's this about, mother?" Draco said, bursting into the room. If he was surprised to see the rest of the group, he didn't show it. "Pansy, what are you doing here? Professor Snape, Professor Trelawney," he said, acknowledging them.

"Good day, Draco. It's good to see you looking well," said Snape smoothly. Trelawney nodded in agreement.

Pansy smirked in triumph and gestured for Narcissa do the talking.

"She's here for you, Draco," the tall thin witch said through tight lips.

Draco sneered, looking at Pansy with derision. "For me? Merlin's beard, why? We haven't seen each other for months."

"Because I have pledged you to her," Mrs. Malfoy said, folding her hands together.

"Pledged me?" Draco shouted, his eyes snapping back to regard his mother with fury. "What the heck are you on about? You must be joking. Why would you do that? Father, is this true?" Mr. Malfoy avoided Draco's eyes guiltily.

"Because she has brought us the good Headmaster Snape, who had been avoiding us, hiding at the school all these many months. Avoiding a just punishment for his crimes. Avoiding being called to answer for breaking his so-called Unbreakable Vow. Until now." Narcissa drew her wand, though Snape had made no move against her or anyone else. He sat back in the chair, legs extended, and looked at her with resignation in his eyes, his hands idly at his side.

Draco sat in the chair opposite Snape and crossed his legs casually. "So what? That's ancient history, mom. We made it through the war alive, whether through his protection, or lack thereof."

Narcissa looked pained and drew her hand once again across her neck, her fingers tapping along the angles of her jaw. "It matters a great deal, Draco. The breaking of an Unbreakable Vow carries considerable consequences, consequences that Severus here had been avoiding while holed up behind the defences of Hogwarts. Consequences that your father and I will be very pleased to administer personally." Lucius' face now morphed into a malicious grin.

"There's no way I'm marrying her," Draco sneered derisively, pointing at Pansy like she was a stain on the carpet. "I'm finally going steady with Angelica Zabini. And you know where that could lead," he said, turning and looking at his mother meaningfully.

Pansy, rather than being hurt by Draco's harsh words, was only angry and jealous. "Angelica? Blaise's cow of a sister? She's lucky they're still rich. No one would give her a second look if her pockets weren't lined with money."

Draco turned to her and spat out, "At least she has money going for her, which is more than I could say for you." Millicent sucked in her breath in shock and gripped Pansy's shoulder.

Pansy shook off her friend's hand and drew her wand, but Narcissa was faster, stepping between her son and the young witch, her own wand drawn. "Let's settle this like civilized witches, shall we, Miss Parkinson?" Pansy lowered her wand slightly, still scowling at Draco.

"Yes. Civilized witches who keep their word, Mrs. Malfoy. I assume your documents are in order, and that you have mine?"

Mrs. Malfoy nodded. She went to the desk, opened a drawer, and removed a stack of papers bound with a red ribbon. Now Draco rose from his chair, sputtering in shock. "No way, I'm not doing this!" Narcissa returned and handed the papers to Pansy, then put a hand on Draco's shoulder, which he tossed off violently.

"You don't have a choice, Draco. You have been pledged. Professor Snape and Professor Trelawney will be the witnesses to your marriage. Then we will have the opportunity to take the good Professor to task for his Unbreakable Vow," she said, her wand still in her hand.

"I advise you to use your excellent reading skills to actually read the documents, Miss Parkinson," Snape intoned quietly. Pansy turned on him, surprised to hear him speak. "I would advise your careful scrutiny, particularly of the last page."

Pansy narrowed her eyes at the Headmaster, then untied the ribbon and shuffled through the papers until she got near the end. Her eyes began to widen. Millicent asked "What is it, Pansy? More than you imagined?"

Pansy sat down heavily in the armchair Draco had vacated, all of the parchments falling to the floor except the last one of the large stack, which she continued to regard in disbelief. Draco allowed a contemptuous sneer to cross his face.

"Nothing. They have nothing, Millie. They are poorer than I am now," roared Pansy angrily. She flashed a dangerously angry face towards Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. "And you tricked me into bringing you Snape, knowing Draco has nothing to offer me in marriage, you lousy conniving witch."

"Why do you think I'm trying to woo Angelica, you stupid fool? She's beastly, but the Zabinis have their fortune still," Draco sneered. "Too smart to ever choose sides until it was over. It's a shame Blaise is already pledged to some Durmstrang girl, or you could have thrown yourself at him, too. I hear Potter still has his fortune..."

"What became of your fortune, Mrs. Malfoy? I already know about your fines to the Ministry to get Lucius out of prison, but I know you had a lot more than that," Pansy said accusingly.

Narcissa returned her gaze of contempt. "Living through a war requires many expensive transactions, not all of which are public."

Pansy stood up and spit onto the parchments on the floor, on which she stepped as she marched angrily towards the door, Millie standing still in confusion.

"Forget it, let's go, Bullstrode," she said, grabbing her bewildered friend by the arm and dragging her from the room as tears of rage and frustration emerged on her cheeks. The front door was heard to slam not long after. Mrs. Malfoy turned her glance to Mr. Malfoy. She closed her eyes and sighed with relief.

"Thank you, Severus," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "What a relief to be done with that barnacle of a girl. She's been trying to snare Draco since their first year of school, but such a shady family. Please, Sibyl," she said kindly to Trelawney. "Do sit."

Trelawney sat in the now vacated chair opposite Snape, who busied himself gathering the scattered parchments and feeding them into the fire, where they burned hotly for a moment, then vanished. Snape stretched out languidly and relaxed.

"You've been like a second father to Draco since our Vow and again you've kept him, indeed the whole family, from harm," Narcissa said warmly.

Snape allowed a grim smile to cross his face. "There's nothing like young love to stir the emotions, don't you agree?" he said tiredly, rubbing his forehead.

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Hunter found it nearly impossible to locate the Malfoy house, it not being on maps nor having a usual address. Not wanting to ask anyone else and raise suspicions, she had to wait until she saw Pansy and Millicent reappear in the alley behind the Three Broomsticks and drop the umbrella. She assumed correctly that it was their Portkey and grabbed it as soon as they were out of sight. After the whirling, gut-wrenching surge released her into a dim side street, she didn't find it difficult to determine which house she was after. The tall, imposing facade of Malfoy Manor was clearly out of the ordinary on this otherwise fashionable, orderly street. She approached the house from the side, carefully observing the windows looking for one that captured Snape and Trelawney. Rounding the corner, she saw movement in the rear sitting room and moved closer, reapplying the camouflage charm to blend among bushes outside.

There they were, with an older, glamorous witch that Hunter assumed was Mrs. Malfoy, hovering behind them both with a bottle in her hand, looking joyous, celebratory. Another older wizard was handing around glasses, a look of smugness on his face. There was a younger wizard, perhaps of school age or young college age. Clearly their son by the strong family resemblance. His was perhaps the most cheerful face. Perhaps a former student, a favorite? She found it difficult to imagine what a favorite student would be like, given that the Potions Master she'd had seen was generally stern and difficult. But, like his marriage, perhaps this relationship was built on money, as the Malfoys clearly had plenty, given their enormous home. Perhaps their generosity was why the tuition and board rates had been so inexpensive at Hogwarts. Like any other administrator, Severus must need to please wealthy donors. Though he rarely ever left the school. Perhaps these were particularly wealthy and influential people.

Trelawney, looking as beautiful as Hunter had ever seen her, sat opposite Severus, a broad smile on her face. And Severus, stretching back in the armchair by the fire, relaxed, as satisfied and pleased a look on his face as she'd ever seen. She saw no evidence that he was unwilling, unhappy, or coerced into the situation. They all looked so pleased at the event, a happiness she was kept out of. She ducked back down among the bushes as young Malfoy paced the room. Softly, she touched her wand to her ear and whispered "Amplifico," and listened as though she were in the room.

She heard the light pop of a cork being pulled from a bottle, followed by the sound of glasses being filled. "Agreed," said a voice that Hunter assumed was Mrs. Malfoy. "So let's raise a glass to your Vow, Severus. Unbreakable, forever, my brave, loyal, and ever-dutiful friend."

"Here, here, Professor," said a younger male voice. The son.

"A glass for you, Sibyl? You favor sherry, as I recall?" Snape asked.

"Ah, yes, thank you, Severus." It pained Hunter to hear them sound so...familiar….so comfortable, already.

"If only Bellatrix were here to witness this, Severus. My sister misses you, I'm sure," Narcissa added, a tone of wistfulness in her voice. "Another, Sibyl?" That was fast, thought Hunter, as Snape let out a low snort. She must be preparing herself.

"Bellatrix would only miss one wizard, and it isn't me," said Snape darkly, followed by swallowing. "Narcissa, you should consider having Draco finish his education at Hogwarts. Durmstrang is…" He didn't finish the thought.

"I know things have changed, Severus," Narcissa said kindly. "We had to make our decision before the situation there became clear. Karkaroff put a lot of pressure on families to commit right away after the battle. And we had to do what seemed best for Draco at the time."

"Thanks, Headmaster," said Draco. "But being in the same school and indeed the same House as Parkinson, no thanks."

"And on that matter, I cannot disagree, Draco," said Snape drawled, followed by laughter from the group. Hunter cringed. She never heard anyone brought to laughter by one of Snape's remarks. Maybe sardonic smiles or a knowing grin, but never actual laughter. Because he didn't crack jokes. And what was the issue with Pansy? Hadn't she been here earlier? Hunter wondered what role the two Slytherin girls had played, given that they were clearly not invited to the "after-party." Perhaps they were witnesses for the formal binding ceremony, but then left afterwards. That was strange, no one seemed to be pleased with her. What was the connection between Snape, the Malfoys and the Parkinsons? Her feelings of being well out of the mainstream here, knowing nothing about families, relationships, and history returned.

"But may we rely on your support if we need letters of recommendation for college?" Mrs. Malfoy asked.

"Of course," Snape said smoothly. "I would be pleased to recommend a former student of such talent. Sibyl and I should be returning now, however. We will be missed before too long."

Hunter heard the shuffling sound of people standing, glasses being put down, footsteps. "It is good to be able celebrate, Severus," Narcissa said warmly. "Be sure to get some rest, you seem tired."

"I confess that bed is the only thing on my mind just now," Snape said. Hunter nearly choked. How could he be so vulgar?

"Well, then, I'll let you get to it," Narcissa said, followed by footsteps out of the room and the sound of the front door opening.

"Good night, Professor Snape, Professor Trelawney," Draco's voice carried.

"Draco, you should consider coming back to Hogwarts to finish," Snape said again.

Hunter remained hidden and waited until she heard the "pop" of Snape and Trelawney Disapparating before she ventured back down the side street, keeping her Camouflage Charm in place until she reached the old umbrella. Her thoughts raced and she could only think of getting back to her own room and closing the door behind her. Severus was married today, in a private ceremony only witnessed by the Malfoys and two students, to Sibyl Trelawney, who was perhaps the least likely person on the staff that Hunter could have imagined making a lifetime bond with Snape. Hunter was becoming dizzy from the storm in her head and disorienting effect of the Portkey. She reached for the nearest wall when her feet landed in the alley behind the Three Broomsticks, held herself up, and tried to regain her breath.

"Morgan, so good to see you," a slimy voice said, much too close, as she began to feel the point of a wand on her throat.

"Ethinian," she choked out, afraid to make any move towards her own wand.

"Just stay still and silent and have a small sip of this refreshing cocktail," he said mockingly.


	31. Chapter 31: Numb

**Good day, Readers. I've let Morgan and Severus hang on a little too long. Hopefully these longer days will mean a bit more time to write and finish. Speaking of finish...**

 **Enjoy,**

 **DN**

"All these sad feelings, they'll be gone soon enough. No more crying over being jilted by your lover." Hunter heard the sneer in Ethinian's voice and felt his vise-like grip as she was bound from behind. He wasn't much of a wizard, but his physical strength was formidable.

"I have no lover, thanks to your lies," she said icily, and felt a spark from his wand burn into her skin. A vial, smelling strongly with the acrid sting of scorpion venom, was placed under her nose. He meant to kill her. Not with a curse, which he was probably too incompetent to execute properly, but with straight scorpion venom. Nothing magical, just a direct poison. How like him, a talentless hack. How talentless must she be, then, to be defeated by him. She'd let her defences down, allowed her emotions to get the better of her. Now she faced her own supply of venom.

"If it's money you want, I'll give you everything I have." She felt a slight decrease in the pressure on her neck, confirming her assumptions about his motivation. "Think about your soul, Ethinian." If you still have one. "Think about Janiss. You've put her through enough already…"

He hadn't eased up enough for her to twist or reach her wand. One arm still bound her small torso and arms tightly, the other drew the vial of venom closer to her mouth. She could feel every breath he took in, smell the firewhiskey as he exhaled, sense his rage and determination.

"I know what you've done, Morgan. This isn't about money. Not anymore." His firm grip returned, tighter than before.

Not waiting for her to open her mouth again, he pressed the vial between her clenched lips, the burning liquid coating them, seeping in between her teeth, the bitter taste coating her tongue. Her lips promptly became numb and she began to lose control of them. Against her will, they fell open slightly and more of the powerful poison seeped into her mouth. She pressed her tongue forward to push some out, but before long, it, too, became numb and out of her control. Having nothing to lose now, knowing she had already taken in far more than a lethal amount of this powerful poison, she writhed and twisted, reaching for her wand. No number of hexes or curses could save her now, but she might be able to at least injure him before her death.

He tightened his grip painfully and held her, ribs bending. She was barely able to take a breath now. She tried to utter some wandless curses, but found her tongue and lips uncooperative. Silent magic wasn't possible, either. Words alone or wand alone, one could still inflict some damage, though it would be considerably less than when used in concert. With neither available, plus her hands bound, her powers were limited to a withering glare, grunts, and gurgles, not even able to shout for help as her throat had shut down. She leaned her head forward and began to drool profusely, hoping he would release her in disgust from the spit now running down his hand and arm. He didn't change his tight grip. Her tongue and throat were now completely numb, the bitter taste vanishing.

Whatever waning desire for life may have passed over her in these past few months was swept away by a burning urgency to live, now that it was too late. She thought in despair of the things she might have done once she returned to Sedona, what she could have still made of her life, how she might have moved forward and been productive and useful, despite loneliness. She might have found ways to fill the void with teaching students, training peers, serving others. So many possibilities, now fading. _I'd rather die by my own hand under the stars of the desert than from this worthless wastrel in a back alley in a grubby little village in Scotland._ She looked up to the sky, blue and cloudless, knowing the stars hid behind the light. This was to be her last view.

Then, a blue flash and a familiar, powerful voice shouting "Accio Venom." The vial flying away and Ethinian's wand pulled away from her throat as he turned, dragging her with him, using her as a shield. Blocking the way out of the alley were Snape and Trelawney, wands drawn. She turned too, trying to draw her wand, to at least protect Severus and Sybill if she could. It would be her last act, a final gesture of love.

Her arms did not respond, the venom spreading now into her shoulders and arms. Snape circled, wand drawn, looking for an angle to safely launch a hex at Ethinian without hurting her. If he had but known her life was as good as over, he wouldn't have hesitated, she thought.

Severus had never looked more malevolent than he did now, teeth clenched, eyes narrowed, every inch of his posture ready to kill if need be. It was no great mental leap for her to imagine him as Death Eater now. How many such duels had he fought before? Against whom and for what reason? And what happened to his opponents? She silently wished he would send a fatal Unforgivable Curse in their direction, so she would know that Ethinian died with her.

She expected an Expelliarmus from the Headmaster, but he clearly had more damaging spells on his mind. His wand was pointed directly at the pair of them, gripped tightly. She could nearly see him thinking, plotting, waiting for the opportunity to present itself. At last, Ethinian launched a Stunning Spell towards Snape and Trelawney, but aimed poorly, the spell striking several boxes nearby, which then spilled their contents. This gave Snape an opportunity to cast a Dislocus hex at Ethinian's outstretched arm and shoulder, attempting to disconnect his wand arm. Ethinian anticipated the hex. He released her and dived sideways, hurtling his another weak hex at the pair as he rolled. Snape's Hex hit the wall behind them, several bricks loosening and crashing to the ground in fragments. She couldn't save herself at this point, nor Severus or Sybil. She couldn't save anyone.

Hunter could no longer stand, as her legs became numb and gave out underneath her. Falling to the ground, she knew that, now that the venom had reached her legs, she didn't have much longer until the venom froze her lungs.

Her fall would have been quite painful, had she been able to feel anything. She had no ability to break her fall and met the ground with such force that blasted out the breath from her lungs. Her face still looked down the alley.

Snape and Trelawney continued to battle Ethinian, who was surprisingly agile and good with a blocking spell. He found it difficult to retaliate, being kept on the defensive by the barrage of hexes coming his way. Stunning, Dislocus, Diffindo, Confrigo, Expulso. By now, though, their hexes were coming more slowly. At last, he found an opening as Snape and Trelawney were both between spell casts at the same moment. He fired off a Stunning Spell at Snape.

From her vantage point on the ground, Hunter knew instantly something was wrong, very wrong. The usually agile Snape didn't move fast enough, was caught in the hex and fell. Trelawney's blocking spell was too late or too weak. Trelawney fired an Impedimenta at Ethinian as he ran toward her, but it missed. He sent another Stunning Spell at her, which she dodged, falling over Snape as he attempted to stand again, launching a jinx at his back that instead met with the wall and dissipated. Ethinian gathered momentum and ran out of the alley and out into the streets of Hogsmeade.

The back doors of shops and pubs along the alley were now spilling out their patrons, witches and wizards filling the alley, coming out to see what the disturbance was, wands drawn. Some went to the aid of Snape who was still affected by the Stunning Spell, trying to stand. Others began the chase, as Trelawney pointed down the alley and described Ethinian. Witches and wizards gathered around Hunter, casting healing spells to no avail. Someone dug out a bezoar, which they put in her mouth, but she was unable to swallow. Even with a belly full of them, it would be no use, she knew. Her situation was fatal. There was no antidote, never had been. Small amounts of scorpion venom had uses, but this was undiluted.

Through their ankles, she could still see down the way. There was Trelawney, the new Mrs. Snape, hovering over her newly-wed husband, his head in her lap, saying desperately, "Stay with me, Severus. Don't forget you future, Severus, I've seen it! Remember your child. Let's get him to Madam Pomfrey." Snape grunted weakly, still trying to recover and stand without success.

Other witches were with her, trying to revive her and check her condition. Their voices were fading away, the silence informing her that her brain was now filling with venom. Hunter could no longer hear, but she saw Snape look up at Trelawney with anguish in his eyes. What did it matter anyway if she died? First Philipus, now Severus. Even her brother-in-law and niece, the only family she had, turned against her. And no children. At least a child explained to her why Snape had married the improbable Trelawney so quickly and without any announcement or fanfare. She was going to have his child. It was just as well for Hunter to slip away. Darkness closed in and her vision faded. She only had her own breathing and the beating of her heart to let her know she was still alive. Then she could see, hear, feel no more and lay still, her breathing slowing to a stop, her heartbeat slowing, then stopping.

Snape grunted again. "Sibyl," he said with great effort. "There is a vial of antivenom inside my jacket. Give it to Morgan, she's been poisoned." Trelawney felt Snape's jacket until she located the vial, unbuttoned enough buttons, then withdrew it.

"How much, Severus?" she asked, her hands shaking.

"All of it, as quickly as you can," he said, falling back again.

Trelawney had the others roll the unconscious Hunter onto her back, uncorked the vial and poured all of the orangey potion into her mouth, then held her mouth closed, hoping that some would enter her belly and counteract the venom, hoping that her heart was still beating enough to deliver the antidote to the rest of her limp body.

Every corner of Snape's consciousness was filled with a toxic combination of desperation alternating with admonition. No, don't let her die. How could you allow yourself to be so weak? Work, for Merlin's sake, work! How could you imagine that she didn't need you? That you didn't need her enough to live. That no one needed you? Not again, no, not again. I can't lose the witch I love again, again because of my weakness.

Any lingering doubt of what he needed to do was swept away with startling clarity. If he were to live out this life sentence as anything other than an utterly broken man, it would have to be with her. Whatever it took, her motivations be damned. If she only wanted him to secure her fortune, so be it. He would need a set of skills that were utterly foreign to him. He would have to find them within himself, not matter how far down he needed to plumb. Perhaps Harry was right….

Snape sat up laboriously as Trelawney administered the potion. He continued to try to stand with the support of Madam Puddifoot and Ambrosius Flume. Once standing with some effort, he barked at them to leave him and go to Hunter's aid. He breathed quietly in the street, reaching for the wall for support until he heard footsteps coming back from the pursuit of Ethinian. Trelawney stood then, speaking in a voice he'd never heard before, a commanding voice.

"Rosemerta, Ambrosius, a Levicorpus charm. These two need to get to Madam Pomfrey at Hogwarts. Now!" Snape had never heard her use such a tone. He felt himself supported and steered back towards the school by Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. He did not resist. The others, wands drawn, helped move Morgan towards Hogwarts as fast as their legs would go. Trelawney was teamed up with McGonagall, overseeing the transport. Minerva, Merlin bless her, with an expression of worry on her face that would have been impossible only a few short months ago. Still others acted as an escort, wands at the ready, eyes scanning the scene for any further threat. He breathed heavily and allowed them to walk him through the dusty and grimy back streets of Hogsmeade towards the bridge back to school. He lobbed a few silent charms towards Hunter, hoping the charms would amplify whatever effect the potion might have. He had let her down, failed to protect her from an obvious threat. He silently but fervently hoped that whatever weakness he'd allowed in his body was made up for with the potion.


	32. Chapter 32: Blood Builder

**Good day, readers. Enjoy and leave a review, please.**

 **DN**

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Severus Snape found waking that morning a slow process, his mind as foggy as the lakeside in the fall. As sensation wandered in to join consciousness, aches and swellings made themselves known. It had now been many months, nearly a year, since his body had been damaged in battle or a duel, and the once-routine process of healing now seemed less familiar, and considerably less welcome. All concern over his condition was stripped away once another thought roughly shoved its way across his mind, obliterating all others.

 _Morgan._

His last glimpse of her had been as she'd been carried, inert, back to the castle. Had she survived? Recalling her collapse in Hogsmeade, giving no resistance, no spirit in her eyes, meeting the ground so forcefully, he felt nauseous. As he struggled to control his emotions, further thoughts, of a long life yet to live, but without her, with no hope of her, came unbidden and would not release him. Just as he'd committed to devote himself to pursuit of her, she'd been snatched away. In a painful echo, yet again, he'd been a fool and his love had suffered the consequence. Snape now snapped open his eyes to take in the dim light. His eyes confirmed what his nose had already informed him: he was once more in the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey hurried over, clipboard and parchments in hand. She began her exam, feeling his hand and head.

"Where is Dr. Hunter? What is her condition?" he barked with concern, trying to raise himself to a sitting position and failing. The swelling and bruising from the hexes and curses rested deep in his muscles and bones, making each movement, large or small, a painful chore. How long had he been here? He could remember nothing since he arrived and collapsed in a bed.

The Healer felt his pulse as she looked over at the bed across the infirmary, its curtains drawn, then back to her other patient. "She has not regained consciousness yet, but she is not dead."

Waves of relief, of hope, of longing, of thankfulness washed over him. He lay back, allowing the Healer's exam to continue. She was alive, thank Merlin. Alive. He closed his eyes, partly in relief and partly to hold in the evidence of his emotion. She was alive. Little else mattered.

"I have her on round-the-clock observation, but there have been no changes since you two arrived yesterday. How much venom did she drink?"

"No idea," Snape stared at the curtained bed, unconcerned for Poppy's ministrations to him. The shadows were beginning to gather as the sun set outside the windows, leaving only the few small lamps beside each occupied bed to supply light. It wasn't morning at all. After a moment, he turned back to the healer. "But even a small exposure is usually quite serious. A spill on the skin can be fatal. What treatments have you given her?"

She flipped to another of her parchments and listed the spells, charms, potions, and salves that had been used. Reparifors, bezoars, antidotes for common and uncommon poisons, several others. "We even applied the Salve of Salvation. We truly have done everything possible. By the way, I'll need more of the Salve made, once you are back on your feet. I've run out of it and I'd like to try some more for her."

Snape turned back to her and snorted. "I won't be hurrying off to mix that up, Poppy." He waited for a moment as she narrowed her eyes and snarled. "It will be useless for Dr. Hunter. It's main therapeutic function is to grant the user certainty that they have done everything possible for the patient, nothing more." She grimaced, then continued to feel his pulse. "See if you can heal me in less than a month this time, if you please," he said sardonically, eyeing her hand touching his. He felt distinctly less revulsion at the touch of another than he had during his previous inpatient stay.

Madam Pomfrey dropped his hand roughly, which fell with a thud against the side of the bed. "See if you can come to me before you are dead next time, Headmaster," she replied tartly. "You have barely enough blood in you to live. Why? And don't even consider saying 'No idea.' You might fool others with that line, but not me."

"I would never consider trying to fool the astute Madam Pomfrey, particularly when I am so obviously at your mercy," he said silkily. "Human blood was needed as an ingredient for an experimental scorpion anti-venom, and I had the most ready supply."

"You've nearly bled yourself to death!"

"I had no idea how much Dr. Hunter would need, so I made as much as possible." Snape looked directly into Madam Pomfrey's eyes. "It seems to be having some effect, as she isn't dead. She should be dead ten times over." Referring to her as dead nearly made him choke. The images swirling in his mind, of the witches he'd loved, dead, made him wish for a return to unconsciousness.

"Is there more of this experimental 'antidote?' It may help."

"Yes, there are six more vials in my storeroom."

"And how much blood goes into making one vial?"

"About a pint per vial."

"And for how long have you been making these?"

"Since December."

Madame Pomfrey regarded him with something like anger, but tempered with respect. "That's three times faster than your body can replace blood without magical intervention, Severus. It's a wonder you're even alive yourself. I could have helped, you know." Here, she paused, an unusual step once she began a tirade. Her shoulders relaxed and she now sat in the chair at his bedside. "You do noone any good if you are too weak to launch a good curse or even dodge a poorly cast one."

"When you are done castigating me, Poppy, can I inquire after some of your healing intervention?" he said sourly, his own internal castigating far worse than Poppy's.

She pursed her lips. "I've already started, of course. It isn't instantaneous, replacing blood. It takes time, but the fact that you can manage a bit of sour wit suggests that you are doing better than yesterday."

"I wasn't witty then?" he asked, in mock horror.

"No. Silent. Just like old times," she said with a rueful smile. "Sometimes I miss those good old days." This earned her a sour look, followed by a turning away. Madam Pomfrey stood up then and waved her wand across his weakened body and muttered "Hemoscendo."

A paroxysm of hurt wracked his body. He couldn't help but show it in his face; a grunt escaped his lips as he felt a painful swelling feeling from the middle of his bones, as though his marrow was going to explode. After a time, the agony turned to pain, then to discomfort, followed by some residue of relief when it fully subsided.

"How many times will you abuse me thus?" he asked, when he was once again capable of speech.

"Most wizards with your level of blood depletion require four," she said, with more cheer in her voice than he thought necessary.

"Then I expect I'll only require two," he replied. Madam Pomfrey snorted, scribbling in her chart, her quill fluttering.

"Take the Hemocrease potion now, please," she said, handing him a vial of blue, metallic looking liquid. He recognized it as one of his own. He drank it down, the ferric and salty taste sliding over his tongue.

"One more question, Headmaster. How did you know that Dr. Hunter would be poisoned, and why were you so sure it would specifically be with scorpion venom? Why did you think it so likely, in fact, that you were willing to nearly bleed yourself to death to create an experimental antidote?" Madam Pomfrey regarded him without suspicion, but with curiosity.

"Her supply of venom was stolen, despite storage in a secure cabinet with multiple charms. She has had a recent visit from someone who is less than benign, making threats against her. I assumed these events were related and prepared accordingly." But would it be enough?

The Healer nodded in understanding. "Do you still keep a supply of Wolfsbane in your stores?"

"Yes. Is there someone in need?" he asked warily.

"No one that I know of." Madam Pomfrey grasped Snape's hand, but not for the purpose of monitoring. "You're a good man, Severus. Regardless of what you may tell yourself." She dropped his hand and stood briskly, the moment over. "Now. You may leave this sanctuary to return to your peaceful existence whenever you feel strong enough to do so. However, if you don't return in 24 hours ONTHEDOT to receive your next Blood Builder, I will have Minerva hunt you down and commit you to remain here in the hospital wing under my direct supervision until you are full-blooded once more. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"

Her words, while rather louder than necessary to be heard at this close distance, were intended to be those of care and concern, he knew. That notwithstanding, he could do without the lecturing. The way she waved her wand in his direction seemed distinctly un-therapeutic. "Will I have visiting privileges to see Dr. Hunter and still enjoy my freedom?"

"Only if you are compliant with care, Headmaster."

"Very well, then," he said, attempting again to rise with some difficulty. He was torn between staying in the infirmary to be near Morgan and the desire to retreat to his private spaces. No doubt, there was work piling up on his desk, as well as teaching to be done come Monday. Someone would need to be pressed into service to teach Dr. Hunter's classes while she was in recovery. He was feeling somewhat revived already, the Hemoscendo with its companion potion and resultant increase in blood production filling his veins, but a double class load might be a bit much.

As he sat on the edge of the hospital bed, pausing from the effort before attempting a full stand, he glanced over once more to the curtain beyond which Morgan Hunter lay, in a tenuous state. It occurred to him that there was no certainty that she would ever recover, no certainty that the antidote was fully effective. He had very carefully studied the theory and constructed the potion as precisely as possible, but this went way beyond theory into uncharted territory. She might simply languish unconscious, not dead, but not much more. She might regain consciousness with lingering paralysis. She might be conscious and mobile, but not at all the same witch. The range of enduring injuries to her were too great to contemplate at once.

He berated himself as he slowly retreated down the long halls and stairways to the dungeons. It may have been possible to devise a way to thwart the intentions of Pansy Parkinson toward Draco Malfoy rather than leave Morgan unprotected, though how could he have known she'd leave the protections of Hogwarts and follow him? She would have been unprotected when she traveled to lecture and he would have been powerless to accompany her then. She had chosen not to continue her lectures. Did she know what kind of threat Ames posed or was there some other reason? And, he reminded himself yet again, she was a perfectly capable witch. Usually.

Why had she been as careless as she had been, knowing that Ames was now nearby and had found her location and posed such a threat? Pitiful, he berated himself yet again. The three of them, unable to capture and defeat a second-rate wizard. Poppy was right, he must not allow himself to be so weakened again. But what had made Morgan so vulnerable?

He stopped first at his laboratory. In the storeroom, he stood before his Registered Substances cabinet and uttered the charms, charms of his own invention, unbreakable. Within lie his most deadly, powerful, or expensive ingredients, and his most precious products. He withdrew three vials of anti-venom. That left only three. Months' worth of work, spent alone brewing. The many obvious failures. If Poppy only knew how much of his blood had been wasted… He probably would need at least the full course of four Blood Builders. But at last, a formula that wasn't obviously worthless, one that emitted some kind of power, after his needing all the strength and skill he had to make, a most disagreeable temperament. Now distilled down to these six vials, and their seventh companion, already consumed. He rolled them in his hands, their potency radiating into his flesh, every component speaking with every other one. He re-set the stoppers, tapped the vials with his wand to clean them, then wrapped each carefully before putting them in a padded box with a secure latch. Once he was fully certain they were uncontaminated and secure, he summoned a house elf to deliver the package to Madam Pomfrey, accompanied by stern instructions on doing so carefully given the high value of the content of the package.

At last reaching his rooms, he sat before the fire, freshly made, and wondered for how long he could manage to teach so many classes. Slughorn was still living, but some of Hogwarts' more advanced students might be a good option, as well. An opportunity for experiential learning. Perhaps he would need those additional applications after all, he thought, rubbing his head. He gave a wave of his wand, and there was shortly a knock on his door.

"Enter," he called, not looking up as Bina entered with her parchment and quills.

"Yes, Headmaster?" she said. "Are you not well? You seem tired. I'll call for some dinner for you."

Under normal circumstances, he would have waved off this concern, but thought the better of it.

"Yes, thank you, Bina." A silver tray with roast pork, spaetzle, and cabbage appeared, accompanied by a glass of dark red wine. Had he felt more able, he might have smiled, but instead he remained in his chair and motioned Bina over.

"Please inform the 8th-year Advanced Potions students that their homework is no longer due Monday and that they have the weekend off. Inform them that a change to the planned curriculum will be announced Monday, instead." He imagined their delight, being able to enjoy the weekend without writing 18 inches of parchment describing the use of simmering, not boiling, in the production of patients, then added: "Instruct them to use the extra time studying for N.E.W.T.s." He had virtually no belief that any of them would do so, with the exceptions being much of Ravenclaw House and Hermione Granger, but it seemed best to at least deliver the advice, knowing it, like so much other good advice before it, would go unheeded.

Bina wrote down the directive, then scurried away to copy the message and have it delivered.

Snape got into his nightshirt and rested then, not really sure of the hour. His thoughts turned again and again to Morgan, as they always did. He reminisced over their work together, his surprise at the depth of her talent, her keen interest in Temperament. Her interest in him. What was her motivation? What did she want? She claimed she had no interest in his rumored fortune, a claim she continued to make after she discovered that he had no fortune, no assets. And not much of a future, other than more of the same, year after year. His own needs were supplied in modest style by the school. Anything above that was small, indeed. Any wife of his would need to work to support herself, particularly one with a taste for fine clothes and jewelry. And children… Here, he stopped himself from thinking any further. Even a witch who was not particularly galleon-hungry would turn down such a Binding, for what would be the point. Unless she herself had exceedingly poor prospects.

He neither knew nor cared. What other wizards or witches thought of her, his opinion was firm. He was determined to learn the ways of wooing a witch. He'd even read Lockhart's book, if need be, though the thought of being caught doing so sent a wave of revulsion through him. If there were a Salve of Salvation for attracting a witch, something which would inform the suitor that he'd done all that was possible to win the impossible witch, he wanted to know. Should she ever awaken, be able to speak and understand, he would be ready.

For if he failed, what then? He pictured himself, coming home to some shabby, empty house after closing up his Potion shop, another long day spent making simple concoctions. And then what? Probably sampling some of his own product before slowly going mad.

And still, the mermaid girl with long dark hair. What did she matter? Thoughts of her also invaded his mind in the quiet, dark hours of the evenings. It wasn't possible that he had a child now, that was certain. Trelawney said she referred to him as "daddy." A frightening thought, indeed. What poor child would be so cursed to have him as a father? Harry was fool enough to have him as a godfather, mostly out of a misplaced sense of duty, no doubt, of indebtedness.

Feeling a bit revived as the Blood Builder continued to take effect and the warm dinner and wine filled him, he stood again and paced the room restlessly, feeling determination rise within him. Doubts as to her motives notwithstanding, he wanted to be with her, wanted her to be with him. Yes, she made the research far more fruitful and was an able collaborator, but there was more to this than forwarding research. Working with her, which was once a novelty, had become the standard to which he now measured the day. Working alone had been like being a unfastened door, blowing in the wind. His mind was sharper when she was there, his senses more alert, his consciousness more focused. Without her, he had been half-dead, though still living. Still functioning, teaching, researching, brewing, still doing what duty required, until the day finally gave in to the release of sleep.

His visions of her leaving him forever on the next train out of Hogsmeade, or taking up with some other wizard, stole that release many times in the form of nightmares, from which he awoke still unrested, despite the hours of sleep. He had long resisted the temptation of a Sleeping Potion, knowing where that might lead, but it was getting more difficult to resist the appeal of a full night of dreamless sleep. And if he were to combine it with a Delightful Dream Draught, he could be assured of a night's' worth of lovely dreams. But many a witch and wizard before him had gotten to the point of not wanting to sleep without these. They weren't difficult to procure, but most shops kept their prices high. Whether to encourage their use being rare or exploiting those with dependencies was a matter of speculation.

What he needed now to sleep well was clear. He buttoned his day clothes back on, pulled on his boots, and headed back upstairs.


	33. Chapter 33: Peeved

**Dear readers: I needed to add a few details in. Some of the students got testy, having a smaller part than they think they deserved. And I agreed. I've made a few changes and added depth. Please re-read this chapter, 34, and 35 BEFORE you read 36. They all have relevant edits.**

 **Thanks for going along on this journey. If you read it, review it! Tell me what you think.**

 **Cheers, DN**

The week following his release from the Hospital Wing was as exhausting as they come, even if he had been a full-blooded wizard. He was due for another Blood-Builder in the coming weekend, with at least two more to follow, a prospect that was both pleasing, as it would be good to get back to feeling like himself again, but also unpleasant, given the pain involved. Perhaps the first one was the most painful. At this thought, he scoffed. Knowing how most Potions series worked, it was more likely that the first one was the easiest. It couldn't be helped. He needed all his strength. He'd placed his need for privacy above his responsibilities to protect those around him to the best of his capabilities. He couldn't feel much satisfaction in having saved her life, given that he might have prevented her injuries had he been at his full strength.

Now that he required all 7th and 8th year students to take Advanced Potions, his teaching all Potions classes would a greater class load than he'd ever taught before, along with his Headmaster duties. The following weeks, at least, would be better. Older students would be taking their O.W.L.s one week and N.E.W.T.s the next, for which the Headmaster was deeply grateful, as this meant that, for those weeks, at least, they wouldn't be in their regular classes. After that, one more week of classes, then results, the leaving feast, and graduation. Then summer. The prospect of the quiet, emptiness of the castle, students and staff having departed for the summer holiday, no longer had the appeal that it had had in the past. Images of himself, haunting the hospital wing to watch over a still-comatose Morgan, furthered his sense of depletion.

He had taken up teaching Morgan's classes as a pledge to her, as an homage to her while she recovered. If she did awake, she would see that he valued her, that he'd sacrificed for her. He even pledged to teach as she would have, as much as he could do, given that he'd only ever observed her teaching style during their research collaboration. Also, he had no one else to whom to delegate. None of the other staff was free, teaching their own classes and conducting study halls for the students preparing for exams or acting as proctors. The Hogwarts staff was composed of remarkably capable wizards and witches, but Potions was a very specialized branch of magic. As much an art as a science, requiring unique skills possessed only by those with a particular talent. Horace Slughorn had seemingly vanished after the war, though some rumors had him taking up residence in Bermuda to recover from his own traumas. Clearly, the only rational thing to do was to teach it all himself.

He had less time than he'd wanted to prepare to teach Morgan's classes. Her lesson plans were nowhere to be found, but probably secure within her locked and charmed desk drawers, away from the prying eyes of students trying to get advanced information on what was coming or the content of exams. He pondered the effort it might take to undo her charms, then opted not to, picturing her temper should she discover them broken. He dug deep into his old files to find his lesson plans.

With the question of content now decided, the question of technique came to mind. Would these students be prepared to meet his exacting standards? He doubted it. Her rather lax teaching style wasn't likely to motivate students enough to be as careful and methodical as was required for such an art as Potion-making.

He put down his quill and stared around at the dimness. He hadn't visited his old office in the dungeon for quite some time, given that he'd transferred to Defence Against the Dark Arts two years ago then taken up residence in the Headmaster's office the previous school year. All these months of distance between them made it even longer. Her presence suffused the room. Her numerous books lined the shelves, few, if any, of which had a copy in the Hogwarts Library. An illustration of Stonehenge there, her cauldrons lined up be size and material, her fresh parchment stack, her quill and inkstand. Her energy pulsed as he sat at what formerly had been his desk, but now was completely hers. Closing his eyes and inhaling, he could still make out the scent of rosemary and lavender, making his heart ache further. He was a trespasser here now. He rose, pacing the room in concern, running his fingers over the spines of her personal library, thinking wistfully of his own. Would she ever awaken, even survive? He ran through all the awful possibilities that he'd listed to himself before, every imaginable pain or disability. All his plans, every different scenario, hinged on at least her coming out of the coma enough for him to show her his regret, for him to ask (once again) for her forgiveness, for him to show her how much he cared, for him to pledge himself to her. For himself, little mattered beyond her forgiveness and acceptance of him. Any further struggle, he would help her overcome. No matter the difficulty or challenge, he would help her meet it, be her ally. But if she never regained consciousness, never knew, what then? He would have to face that some other time. For now, what she needed that he could provide was a teacher for her students. He pledged once more in his heart to teach as she would have taught. He snapped back to the present moment, facing her poster of Stonehenge.

Except that this wasn't Stonehenge or any other stone circle he'd seen before. It was different. The stones were small, not tall. In addition to the circles, there was a central stone with lines of smaller stones leading out from it, like spokes on a wheel, but with different lengths pointing in different directions. The sun, moon, and stars were illustrated above it and each direction of the compass. Different plants were illustrated with the circle, sweetgrass, tobacco, sage, and cedar. Minerals were there, and animals. It was a beautiful drawing, detailed and rich, layered. Depending on your view, you could see how the stones related to the days, the months, and the seasons. He could nearly feel the warmth of the stones in daylight and the breeze across the plain in the summer, and the chill of the scene during the long winter nights. At the bottom, a small signature, difficult to notice unless you were looking for it, unless you had begun to suspect you knew who the artist was already.

 _P. Alden._

This was the hand-drawn masterpiece her husband had been working on. It was for her, for her Potions work, showing how the cycles of days, months, and seasons related to the plants, minerals, and animals shown. No wonder she knew so much about astronomy. He dared not touch the item, mainly out of respect, but also partly of not knowing what charms it might have. She would value this above many of her other things and would have protected it with her powerful magic. He continued to look at it, to try to understand how the stones related to the sky, how the plants related to the rest. Like the plants of the Forbidden Forest, they must have properties that related to the sun, moon, and stars. Understanding this would be of great value.

He tore himself from the illustration, aching to think that her knowledge might pass with her, further determined to make things right, to sacrifice whatever was required, to give anything to win her heart. What would she want of him now?

Morgan's admonitions during their work with students while doing their collaborations returned to him. Encourage, not admonish. Praise, not criticism. Support, not punishment. The polar opposite of his teaching approach. The O.W.L.s would tell if this worked. He scoffed to himself. His years of experience had proven that relentless pressure, high expectations, and certain punishment produced students who were careful and successful. His Advanced Potions students had consistently had a 100% passing rate on their N.E.W.T.s, in part, no doubt, of the certainty of his displeasure should they come up short. This year could be different, as every student had to take Advanced Potions, not just his usual hand-picked class, selected for their promise, as well as their ability to avoid or at least tolerate his temper. Despite this, signs were encouraging that most of them, if not all, might earn a N.E.W.T. in a few weeks.

Slughorn had been considerably more lax in his approach, and it had shown. Even as a student, Snape had found it necessary to improve on the materials he'd been given. He was among the few of his peers who'd achieved N.E.W.T. level and fewer still who'd gone on to practice in the profession. He pushed back against the memory of what he'd done with his talents in his early years.

And yet, Morgan was a well-regarded Potioneer with many years of experience, as well, and she had a different view. Her students were used to her style. Perhaps it was time to consider different techniques. He would do the experiment. His students his way, her students her way (as much as possible). She would want this. No matter how difficult, nor how skeptical he was, he would try to do things the way he thought she might.

Monday, he'd stormed into her first-year class, as was his habit, but took time to take in the reaction of her students.

"I am Headmaster Severus Snape. I will be teaching Potions until Professor Hunter can resume teaching or the end of the year, whichever comes first," he began. He looked across the classroom onto a sea of worried and fearful faces. _Her way,_ he said to himself. Before he had the opportunity to say more, small, shaking hands went up across the classroom. He hadn't even introduced the potion for the day. What could they possibly have questions about at this point? He recalled that she encouraged questions, so he opted not to either ignore or delay them. He gestured to one young wizard with dark skin and curly hair. "You, what is your name?"

The young wizard stood on quaking legs. "I'm Olawale Awoniyi, sir. Everyone calls my Wally, though." He paused, working up his courage. "Sir, I heard Professor Hunter is in the hospital wing and that she might not live. Is that true?" His voice cracked a bit, and tears filled his eyes. One by one, shaking voices asked about her. They had heard the rumors of her injuries and were worried. It was clear not a single head would be thinking of the classwork of the day, so he heaved a sigh, conjured a chair for himself at the front of the classroom and sat. He found that saying the words that she might never wake up, that it wasn't known what would happen, were more difficult to say than they were to simply think. There were a few tear-filled eyes; he found he shared many of their concerns.

When he finally answered enough of their questions and was able to turn their attentions to the Potion of the day, he brought to mind Janiss Alden's words. Rather than grading papers at the desk and leaving the students to figure things out, he lectured on the properties of the ingredients and the finer points of the process while they set up. Students regarded him with continued trepidation, not sure when the harsh and punitive Professor Snape they'd heard so much about from older students and seen at mealtimes would show up. As expected, one young student knocked over her set-up, now nearly finished. The cauldron clanked off its stand, rolled across the bench, and clattered to the floor. There went up a collective gasp, but rather than looking at the young witch, all eyes were on him.

Instinctively, he rounded on the young witch with long sandy hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. "What is your name, Miss?" he asked, eyeing the equipment strewn around her.

"Amarantha Oglethorpe." Snape growled. "Sir," she squeaked out, her lower lip shaking as much as her knees.

Usually, he found terrified students who had fouled up a satisfying outcome. They should be terrified, if they were such dunderheads as to be so careless. Today, he had a strange reaction. Her fear at his temper, following so quickly from fear for Dr. Hunter, seemed absurd. They were already all nearly falling apart with worry for her. To make matters worse by assigning a detention, one that he himself would be loath to host, taking time away from visiting her, seemed unduly cruel. What purpose would it serve, really? What would Morgan do?

"Miss Oglethorpe, I suggest that you pick up your equipment and reassemble it." This was met with shocked silence throughout the classroom. "Now," he said, probably more harshly than he meant. He would keep working on that. "The rest of you, get on with it. There is not much time left, given how much time we spent on questions. You'll all need to make good use of your time. The Cure for Boils is simple enough, but you'll need sufficient time for it to brew. I assume you all know how to crush snake fangs correctly?" The students quickly returned to their work, grinding, slicing, and brewing. Soon, he was surrounded by the delicious odor of pungous onions, ginger, flobberworm mucus, and horned slugs perfuming the air.

Another thought of Morgan came to him. "Those of you with long hair, step back," he instructed, then waved his wand. Those with long hair found it suddenly tightly braided, captured by a tie that corresponded to their house colors. Their grimaces and stretched foreheads told him that the braids were perhaps a bit too tight, so with a _Finite Incantatem_ , he reversed the first braids and redid them a tiny bit looser. "You'll find yourself less likely to need an _Augamenti_ spell this way," he noted. The students returned to their work.

Overall, he found their work to be of fully acceptable quality, with only one or two exceptions. As they handed in their final Potions, several students said "Good day, Professor Snape," before exiting. No previous student, at least those not in Slytherin house, had bade him good day before. He muttered a "Good day" in reply, digging through his memory for their names. It was rather late in the year, he admonished himself, to be putting your student's names to their faces. Someone was heard to say, a young Gryffindor, maybe Oglethorpe or Awoniyi, say to another "Weasley was just pulling our leg. He's not scary at all!" Once they had all gone, he noted that they had also all cleaned up after themselves. Her students didn't leave behind cauldrons for detention students. Because she didn't host detention. Interesting and novel. There were little time to think about the implications of this. The fifth-years would arrive shortly, then lunch, then one period to himself for school business, then the third years. By the time dinner would arrive, he would be grateful for a chance to simply sit and eat. Then he recalled the evening study halls, grading, and school business he would otherwise have taken care of during the day and realized he would have to eat dinner quickly and get on with it.

It was only much later, in the solitude of his rooms, preparing for a much-needed rest, that he pondered over the day. Just what was it the students were seeking from him, asking so many questions about Morgan, seeking his approval, hoping for his praise? If they needed coddling and reassurance, they should go to their mothers and fathers. At this notion, Snape sat and pondered. They couldn't. They were here, his charges. This was his job. A father. That's what Morgan would want him to be to them. That's what she was meaning when she disapproved of his punitive style; she wanted him to be more fatherly. His pledge, that he would do things as she would have done, now took on a more challenging aspect. Of course he could manage not to give detentions or excessively long essays, of course he could grade the results less stringently. But to be more…"fatherly." To be "fatherly" at all. That might be very difficult.

His sources for examples were few, and deeply flawed. His own father was an ignorant and violent brute of a man, forever criticizing, never approving, always ready to insult or ridicule. He detested his father, even now, even more so in realizing how like him he'd become, despite having no children. Those students entrusted to him, he shamed and intimidated in equal measure with his instruction, passing along to another generation bitterness, anger, and resentment. Only for Harry Potter was it truly necessary to have been distant, to have kept him firmly at a distance. All the others, those who'd come before him, he'd been as fatherly as his own father to. The long-standing need to repel others, to isolate himself, to remain free from prying eyes that might endanger his precarious position, had this become too much a habit to modify?

Snape cursed under his breath,

A father. Someone who would reassure them and protect them, guide them. Someone with experience to help them find the right path. Not simply a taskmaster, though he could deliver well on that. No, what they needed now, in these times, what Dumbledore had been in his time, was a father. He would need to be a father, not just to Harry, but to every student in the school.

With that rather unsettling thought, this vast expansion of his sense of the scope of his duty, he realized sleep would be hard to come by. He turned his feet once more toward the Hospital Wing.

"You should come to the infirmary and talk to him, Harry. He's there every day with Dr. Hunter unless he's teaching or conducting school business. He even sleeps in a chair beside her bed, in case she comes out of her coma overnight. I've never seen him this way before." Hermione struggled to find the right word. "Tender. He really cares for her. He's constantly asking Madame Pomfrey and I about her progress, though there hasn't really been any. I've been trying to find signs of some kind of improvement in her condition, just to see some hope in his face. But there hasn't been much."

Harry was displeased to have his good friend bring this up first thing after breakfast. Maybe it was all the pressure of studying for N.E.W.T.s, maybe it was not knowing what was going to happen to him next year, maybe it was having not eaten much breakfast due to a gnawing stomach ache. Whatever the cause, he nerves were jangly and he was in no mood for a lecture from anyone. He wished he'd just packed up his books before breakfast and been able to go straight to the library from there, rather than being cornered in the common room with Hermione's harangue.

"I wouldn't want to intrude," Harry replied, in a haughty voice that sounded much too similar to Hermione herself from many years ago. He tried to modulate his tone, with little success. "Besides, it's his place to come to me. Clearly, I'm no priority to him, same as ever."

"He's been a little bit busy, Harry," she said, not very kindly. "He's been teaching all of Dr. Hunter's classes, most of his own, conducting O.W.L. exams, preparing for N.E.W.T. exams, as well as keeping up with her condition. And he's not back to 100% himself yet."

"His taking those hexes was probably a botched suicide attempt," Harry said fiercely. "Snape's an expert duelist; you've seen him take on McGonegal herself, even. It would have taken someone extraordinary to defeat him, and the papers all claim Ames was a second-rate wizard."

Hermione looked thoughtful. "I really don't know for sure, he hasn't said anything about himself or why they were there in Hogsmeade in the first place, but he had almost no blood in him when he arrived. He was very weak."

"I hadn't heard he was bleeding in all this." He hadn't heard very much about the event at all, other than the baseless speculations in the _Daily Prophet_. There had been far less discussion of this than usual among students or overheard from staff, which was surprising, given the usually robust gossip mill that operated within the castle.

"I don't think he was wounded in that way. He probably didn't have enough blood in him before the duel and that's why Ethinian Ames was able to get the better of him. Madame Pomfrey said she'd never seen someone so depleted of blood. He barely had enough to live when he got here."

Harry snorted dismissively. "He could have given himself a Hemocrease potion if he'd cared to live."

"Hemocrease potion is only half of the Blood-Builder; the Hemoscendo spell can't be done well alone. The potion is only half; you have to do the spellwork, too. And one person alone can't get the angle right. If he had been giving himself Hemocrease, it would have only done about a quarter of what is should do. And Snape's not a Healer. It takes specialized skills, you know." Hermione was clearly offended by his implication that the Healing arts could be done well by any witch or wizard. Harry turned his attention back to the fireplace, though it was empty, now that the warmer weather had come on. He was about to protest further, when Ron and Ginny walked up, books, parchments, quills and ink ready to go.

"Son of a Bludger, I'm sick of studying for N.E.W.T.s," Ron said, clapping Harry on the back. "Have you heard back about colleges yet, Harry?"

Harry grunted his negative response, realizing he would inevitably have to interact with Snape on this topic, whether he wanted to or not. Never mind his reasons, Harry simply could not forgive Snape for his attempt at self-destruction. The man seemed to be capable of saving the wizarding world, but incapable of saving himself. Harry deeply resented all he owed to Severus Snape, because his debt made it difficult to simply hate him wholesale. He had chosen him as his godfather in some fit of madness. He would need to see him about college, though. It was better to get on with it, rather than delay, so he could make plans for the future. If he had gotten into one or more colleges, he would need to make a choice. The thought that he either had not gotten into any or only gotten into one worried him, but there was nothing to be done about it now. The fact that this discussion might both further delay his taking off to the library to study for exams as well as get him away from Hermione's pestering increased its appeal, however.

"You can't hate Professor Snape forever, Harry. By your own choice, he is your godfather and will be so until death. I thought you'd gotten over this."

Harry gritted his teeth as Hermione spoke, Ron and Ginny looking on, as well, gauging his reaction. Despite her sensible words, he was entirely certain he could hate Severus Snape forever. Harry stopped for a moment and took a breath. He tried with some difficulty to recall the reasons that had moved him to ask for this relationship. He owed him his life, several times over. Beneath prickly exterior, he had been working for good at great risk. Snape also had some of his blood in him, and therefore was something of his parents now, in a real, living sense.

Why was Snape so incredibly frustrating to him? He knew now why the Headmaster had needed to show him no favor before the defeat of the Dark Lord, but why now? An old habit? Or did he genuinely dislike him, given that his eyes reminded him of Lily? And the rest of him reminded him of James, who bullied him and won the witch he loved? Snape was always difficult, always complex, never obvious or straightforward. But he always had a logic to what he was doing, even if that logic was obscure to everyone else. What was his logic now, in trying to destroy himself?

Ginny's response sent his aggravation up another notch. "Yeah, I'm surprised you can't cut him a little slack. He's had a difficult life, at least according to what you saw in the Pensieve." She was really getting on his nerves of late, and he was in no mood for more pressure now.

"That makes no sense, Gin," Ron said. Harry was relieved to have at least one ally in his resentment. "Harry had a tough childhood, too, living in a cupboard under the stairs, losing his parents, those rotten people treating him so badly all the time." Ron sat down among the cushions on the old sofa in the common room, setting aside his satchel, looking like he'd much rather take an after-breakfast snooze rather than crack open a book.

"I make no sense? You're the one who's left all your N.E.W.T. studying until just this week, despite spending nearly the entire year in the library. Let's see about this. Yes, Harry, you had a rotten upbringing, but once you got to school, everyone already knew you as The Boy Who Lived. You were a celebrity even before you got your Hogwarts letter. Snape was no one, right? Just some weird, half-blood kid. You had your parent's fortune; he had nothing."

"What the heck does that mean," Harry barked, glaring at Ginny. "That I paid for my friends? If that's why you're here, you can just bugger off." Hermione let out a gasp and Ron stared open-mouthed at Harry, his mouth falling open at this outburst.

Ginny gave him a stubborn look, then spoke again with exaggerated patience. "Harry, that's not at all what I mean and you know it. What I mean is, imagine yourself showing up at school and no one had any idea who you were, and you were no one. You'd need to prove yourself. And you'd want to figure out a way to make some money, too. He was probably up there getting Sorted and thinking about how he wished he had more money and could fit in somehow, so the Hat put him in Slytherin for his ambition. Somehow, despite the fact that he's brave, smart, and loyal, he wound up in Slytherin. The strongest trait he had at the age of 11 was ambition, because he was coming from nothing." She looked at Hermione and shrugged in that infuriating way girls do, like they both knew something no one else did.

Hermione sat on the arm of the sofa and furrowed her brow in thought. "That's a good point, Gin. I hadn't considered that. Then once he was in Slytherin, they would have encouraged all the worst impulses he had and used his hopes for acceptance to their advantage. It probably wasn't long before he found a way to make money from his skills, teaching curses, inventing new ones, making potions. That's how he made his living before he became a teacher. He was a Potioneer for the Death Eaters. According to the _Daily Prophet,_ he made a fine living in those days." She turned to Ron. "What if we hadn't been in his carriage that first day, Ron? What if Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson had seen Harry first? Maybe things would have been a lot different."

Ron snarled at her and waved off her concern. "You're mental, Hermione. Seriously mental. You've lost your sense, studying too much. We'd have been friends, no matter what, right?" he said, turning to Harry.

Harry was now getting peeved with Ron, too, as there was more of a question in his voice than he meant to let on. "Of course, no doubt," Harry said firmly. But inside, he was thinking about that scenario. What if he had met Malfoy first and hadn't seen the rude side of him until later? What if Malfoy had been the one to shape his views of the Wizarding world, told him that Pure-bloods were better than half-bloods or Muggles? Would he have been seduced by that thought?

No, of course not. No way. That was easy to say now, but when he was 11, so much younger, so much less mature, so much less sure of himself, what might have been? His connection to Voldemort, all those dark feelings inside him, what if Malfoy had been there at just the right moment? Harry dismissed that thought with a shudder. Never. But he could imagine it clearly enough to suppose that Snape might have felt more of the pull that Dark Magic held, and might have been surrounded not by friends urging him to do the right thing, but by shrewd manipulators urging him to do the profitable thing, to help them in their own plans and ambitions. "But I was almost Sorted in Slytherin."

Every face in the room within earshot turned towards him, waiting for him to explain further. He hadn't remembered that he'd never mentioned this to anyone before. "Yeah, when I was Sorted, the Hat took a long time, because it wasn't sure where I should be, Slytherin or Gryffindor. But I said I wanted Gryffindor, and that mattered." He looked at Ron. "Because I knew you were in Gryffindor."

There was a moment of stunned silence. Ginny spoke first. "So, if you had met Malfoy first and he hadn't shown himself to be a complete jerk…"

"Which would have been impossible for him for a whole six hours on the train…" intoned Ron.

"Yeah, but if he hadn't, you might have thought better of Slytherin and not been so determined to be in Gryffindor. And things could be very different now."

"And all because you just happened to wander into the carriage where Ron was," Hermione said rather faintly.

Harry was not pleased to think of this alternative world. Sure, he had friends in other houses, maybe he would have been friends with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the rest anyway. But House loyalty was strong and your housemates were really your core group. This crowd was really trying his patience this morning, but Crabbe and Goyle? No, that tested his imagination too much. "Why would you ever question my loyalty to you like this?! All I've ever done is be a decent friend and do the best I can, and this is what I get? Suspicion that I might just dump you all, trot off, and be a Slytherin?"

Ginny raised a hand in protest, but Harry rounded on her, now shouting. Every face in the common room turned to watch the sparks fly. "If I haven't proven myself yet to you, I can't imagine why you still hang around me! Maybe I just need to find some better set of friends to buy!" Shocked silence hung on every face. No one was able to move, despite the desire to avoid the sight of the rest of an ugly scene.

Harry was just about to extend his shouting match to the rest of the Gryffindors when he noticed a red-faced House Elf, dressed in the green-lined Slytherin robes that identified the loyalties of most of Snape's personal staff, shaking near his knees. "A message for Harry Potter, from the Headmaster," he said, his voice quaking, handing over a small parchment scroll, giving a short bow, and vanishing back out the portrait hole in the blink of an eye.

Harry snatched the scroll, tied with a green silk ribbon and sealed with wax that bore the Hogwarts crest and knew before he ripped it open from whom it came. Snape. He plucked off the wax seal, untied the ribbon, and unrolled the scroll. The message was very short.

"Godson,

If you were able to find some time away from studying, I'd be most appreciative of your company. I have some news from your college applications, and other things to discuss with you.

Your godfather,

SS."

Harry held the scroll and felt something more than the message alone. Something, but what? A pull of some kind. He thought about heading to the library, but the pull within him said he really did need to go see Snape. Blast it, he'd charmed the scroll, the manipulative weasel. Despite the fact that he had now been given an excellent alternative to being forced to study in the library with this group of unreliable turncoats, he was irritated just the same at this intrusion on his valuable time, given the impending exams for which he should be studying.

Hermione noticed Harry's turmoil and cautiously broke the icy silence. "He's put a Drawing Charm on it, hasn't he? It must be important, then. You'd better go. You'll only wind up wasting your time if you try to do anything else in the meantime. You'll just be thinking of going and not able to stay focused on what you're doing."

"I _was_ planning on studying." Harry was even more aggrieved by the snickering and rolling eyes this statement elicited from his friends. Except for Ginny, who was casting him daggers, eyes narrow, brow furrowed, her wand hand twitching in anger. Without another word, though there were many choice ones he wanted to bark out, he pocketed the scroll and pointed his feet in the direction of the Headmaster's office, still feeling the stony stares of his friends on his back as he left nearly as fast at the House Elf had.


	34. Chapter 34: A Letter from Sedona

**Dear readers: I needed to make a few changes to this chapter, as well as 33 and 35 in the run-up to chapter 36. PLEASE RE-READ 33, 34, and 35 if you've read them already BEFORE you read 36. It will make a great deal more sense if you do.**

 **As always, I solicit your reviews. I like my nameless, faceless statistics, but real people are much nicer to hear from.**

 **Enjoy - DN**

As predicted, the school business had, indeed, piled up on his desk, even in the short time he'd been away at Malfoy Manor and then the Infirmary. The end of the school year brought an invariable tsunami of business, as college acceptances, requests for recommendations, pleas for apprentices, and invoices for the previous year collided with student applications, solicitations for school services for the coming year, and requests from staff to update the curriculum for the coming year. He'd added Morgan's classes to teach to arranging proctors for N.E.W.T. and O.W.L. exams. And now arrangements for all the builders and crafters working on repairs, too.

He'd been reluctant to leave Morgan's bedside, but there was only so much the Deputy Headmistress could do, and much she was already doing. Some things required the Headmaster's attention only. Minerva had kindly organized the parchments that required his attention in piles of increasing priority, so he'd begun at the top. He called for a veritable army of scribe elves to assist and kept them quite busy for most of the weekend.

After lunch Sunday, he was able to sent them away and address himself to the several personal scrolls that remained. One was different from the others.

He held the item in his hands before opening it. It was like nothing he'd ever touched before. There was clearly magic within it, but of what kind, he did not know. This was of great concern, his having faced little unfamiliar magic in a long time. Strong, powerful magic, but rarely of an unknown type. He turned the scroll, tied with some kind of cord that was neither silk nor thread, over and over in his fingers, assessing its threat. Setting it down, he cast a protective spell on himself before proceeding with caution to untie the fastener.

The soft material unrolled with ease to reveal its written message.

 _To: Professor Severus Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 _From: Hania, Chief of the Sedona School for Magical Development_

 _Dear Sir:_

 _Warm greetings from the Chief of the Sedona School for Magical Development I write today not only as a professional colleague, but also from concern for a prior colleague and friend, Dr. Morgan Hunter._

 _Dr. Hunter was let go from the Sedona School with great reluctance a little over a year ago, and had been keeping in contact with me and her colleagues here until near the winter solstice. We are concerned for her, having heard nothing in these past four months. It is not her typical style to not reply. The Spring Equinox is a favorite occasion of hers. For many years, she sent messages by butterfly, which then pollinated the cactus flowers in our school garden. It is understandable that this might not be practical from Scotland, but her having sent no word at all has us concerned for her well-being._

 _She had mentioned in a previous communication that she had met a wizard of interest to her. It is our hope that she has simply been too busy with her professional life and personal life that communications have fallen by the wayside. However, we would like to request some kind of confirmation of her good health. She had left the Sedona School before a full healing process could be completed, and we have special concern that, in matters of the heart, she may be particularly vulnerable to damage, should things go badly or her chosen wizard prove to be unworthy of her or dishonorable in some way. Any such wizard might be in danger._

 _I humbly ask for a reply to confirm that she is doing well or acknowledgement of otherwise. If I hear nothing from you, I will plan to visit as soon as possible to connect directly with our most esteemed colleague. Please reply using the enclosed parchment._

 _With highest regards,_

 _Hania_

The material of the letter was not stiff and crackly like parchment, but soft with a trace of velvetiness. As Snape further touched the edges of the letter, he felt a warmth and power coming from the page. But once his fingers touched the ink, an intense wave of concern overcame him. He dropped the letter in surprise, then cautiously picked it up again, once his heart had stopped racing. He carefully touched the ink again, with the same result. He was puzzled. He called for Bina, who appeared as though apparating a moment later.

"Bina, what do you think of this letter?" he asked, handing her the item.

She reached up with thoughtful eyes and took the letter in her hands. "Interesting parchment," she noted. "Very soft." She scanned down the words, then blushed and tried to hand back the letter. "Headmaster, this was not meant for me to see," she said accusingly.

Snape declined to take the letter back. "Touch the ink," he said. "No need to read it if you don't want to." Bina lowered her hand and ran her fingers over the writing.

"It seems like the ink is not strange, but the material on which it is written is different."

"Does it...speak to you in any way, Bina?" he asked.

"Speak to me? How do you mean? Do I hear voices?"

"Does touching the ink cause anything unexpected to happen at all? Voices, feelings, anything?"

Bina regarded him with concern. "No, Headmaster," she replied cautiously. "Should I get Madame Pomfrey? Are you not well, sir?"

"No, I'm fine. Thank you, Bina. That will be all," he said with finality. She gave a short bow and vanished as suddenly as she'd arrived.

He placed the letter back on his desk, then carefully placed his hand over the ink yet again. There was worry and concern in measures quite beyond those expressed on the page, bordering on agitation. He wondered why he could sense this, but Bina with her own powerful magic, could not. Perhaps this was a mechanism to be sure that the deeper meaning of the letter could not be discerned by anyone other than the intended reader.

And the material on which the words were written. What was it? It felt so warm and familiar, comforting. He leaned back in his chair, the letter in his hands, alternating between feeling only the material, soft and smooth, silky and yet tough, and touching the ink, only to have that comfort replaced by worry and the stretchy pull of nervousness. When had he last felt that soft but tough kind of material? It was surely a natural item. It didn't seem to emanate from a spell, but to be inherent in the material itself.

He had to suppress a choke when he realized what it was. Deerskin, tied with a piece of ligament. And that feeling of softness and toughness combined, how long ago had it been that he'd felt that in one person? Many, many years. He kept the item in his hands, letting that warmth build in his fingers.

And then the ink again. Morgan's colleagues were worried about her. She hadn't written in some time. But there was more coming through as he kept his fingers on the ink. The meaning became clearer the longer he was in contact with the bland words on the page. The writer suspected that the wizard referenced was up to no good and that Morgan was in some kind of danger because of him. Snape now pressed his hands across the page, covering as much of the writing with his palms and fingers as he could at one time.

A detailed image came to mind. Morgan, sweating in a hot and steamy room, lonely and devastated, surrounded by strangely-dressed magical people, all chanting something he didn't understand and making a rhythmic music he'd never heard before, but something loving and hopeful. Morgan, packing her things, with a smile on her face that was false, not convincing the person to whom she was saying goodbye. The first letters back, claiming all is well, but not being convincing. And then, the feelings from the letters had changed. She was happy, her words were true. Images of her with some rather vague kind of wizard with broad shoulders, brown skin, and long brown hair, green eyes. Then nothing. Concern filled the void, images of a man like Ethinian Ames cursing her or casting spells at her; images of the brown-skinned wizard plotting to take her fortune, to trap her, to take advantage of her. Images of letters sent with no replies. Consulting with other colleagues, followed by the reluctant decision to write this message before taking matters into their own hands and coming here.

Once no new information was coming from the message, he carefully rolled it up and re-tied it, then placed it into a cabinet and sealed it with a Locking charm.

They had tried to heal her at Sedona before she left, but they weren't done. She'd fled before they felt she was ready, left a loving community of concerned friends. She'd come here in desperation, been unhappy for some time at first. Then things had changed, and he knew how. He rested his head in his hands. They had known Ames was a threat, but apparently, she'd stopped writing long before he'd tried to poison her. They weren't sure if Ames was the reason for her silence, or if it was him. They didn't believe for a moment she was too busy galavanting about with her new love; they were worried he was a greedy cad who was taking advantage of the needs of a witch not yet healed from a tragic loss.

They also knew she was a powerful witch and thus didn't come immediately to her aide, but intruded only reluctantly out of respect. They would be here shortly if he did not reply.

This communication he wrote himself, on the piece of parchment supplied.

 _Dear Sir:_

 _I thank you for your letter and for entrusting me with your message, which I received in the spirit with which it was sent. Dr. Hunter is in recovery from a serious encounter which would certainly have killed a lesser witch. She remains in our infirmary under expert care. Her attacker, Ethinian Ames, is no longer a threat._

 _Your presence here would doubtless hasten her recovery, and I encourage you and your colleagues to make arrangements for a visit as soon as your schedules permit. All room and board will be provided by the school._

 _Respectfully,_

 _S. Snape_

He prepared a packet to include all the necessary travel documents, such as a timetable for several of the more prominent PortKey operators and forms for the Importation of Foreign Magical Substances. No sense in their facing uncomfortable inquiries after the fact from the Ministry, should anything go awry later. Once he returned to the parchment, he was startled to discover the words he'd written vanished and replaced.

 _Sir,_

 _Thank you for your prompt reply. The news that Mr. Ames attacked Dr. Hunter is, sadly, not a surprise. I am pleased to find that she is surrounded by those who can care for her best at this time. Thank you for your kind invitation to visit, but her best interests will be served by my not intruding at this time. I will plan on accepting your hospitality near the summer solstice, when I shall be more welcomed, as well as the school being released for the hot season._

 _A package will arrive soon, containing a gift for Dr. Hunter. I would be ever in your debt if you would give it to her with my warm hopes for her recovery._

 _Lastly, I would advise caution with her current state. Dr. Hunter is unfailingly loyal, fiercely so, but also expects the same from those for whom she cares. She does not make friends easily, as few witches or wizards rise to her high standards. Given that she has recently been threatened, she will be exceedingly sensitive to any disloyalty, real or perceived. She is a powerful witch who protects her friends and family, but she has been exposed to a great deal of disloyalty in her life. Any wizard who would hope to win her affections would need to be loyal, as well as highly-skilled._

 _Warmest regards,_

 _Hania."_

Snape took the Auto-reply Parchment in his hands, running his fingers over the ink that he knew would disappear soon. His concerns while writing had clearly been transmitted through the parchment, just as he'd received Hania's. As he touched the ink, already fading, he felt more than the words alone. The Sedona Headmaster was worried, both about Morgan's recovery, and what she might do upon her recovery. He knew that he was the object of her desires, but that in being so, he was in great danger. From her.

His already shaky plans had become a bit more uncertain with this letter. He only had the dimmest of ideas about how to proceed and this news further raised the stakes for his need to succeed. Determination he had, but confidence in far less measure. And there had been a pattern of plans interfered with of late. Uncertainty notwithstanding, he would proceed further as best he could, having little other alternative. If he were to endure, he would at least need to be able to tell himself he'd done all he could.


	35. Chapter 35: One Last Lesson

**Hello, readers. I needed to make some changes in these chapters to align with Chapter 36, so please RE-READ chapters 33, 34, and 35 if you read them before August 29th. Chapter 36 will make more sense.**

 **ENJOY! Post a review! - DN**

Snape turned his attention to the other matter that had been on his mind of late. He paced his office, pulling Harry's college responses from the other parchments still stacked on the oaken desk, then paced a bit more. He read them over again, though he already knew their content. He reminded himself that threats, arguing, and sarcasm would not be the technique du jour. He needed to take a fatherly approach with Harry, one befitting a godfather. Patient, if possible, kindly, and, in this case, apologetic. It would require a great deal of control on his part, most of these tones being difficult and unfamiliar to him. Harry would see these recent events as a betrayal, as another loss of some part of his parents. He hadn't bled himself since he realized the presence of Lily within him, but wondered if it might be the reason for the success of the antidote.

Fatherly. What he knew of fatherly had come to him mostly from Dumbledore and Lucius Malfoy. From Dumbledore, he'd learned both penance and forgiveness, though also unrelenting obligation. From Malfoy, an early hand guiding his towards Dark Magic, but also an example of sacrifice for family. Not the best foundations on which to fashion an image of a father, but it was what he had to work with, his own father having been of no good use in this setting whatsoever. He was pleased that he'd taken the previous week to practice such a tone in Hunter's classes. He no longer felt like a complete impostor now, though he was by no means comfortable inhabiting this role. He meant to consult with Albus on his own evolution from a selfish, rash, and ambitious young wizard to the widely-admired Headmaster he'd become in later life, but then heard the door open and the firm sound of displeased feet mounting the spiral staircase, followed shortly by Harry, looking irritated.

"You sent for me, Headmaster?" he said coldly, his eyes cast elsewhere, a posture of perfect teenage insolence.

Snape heard the edge in the boy's voice, but worked to overlook it. "Indeed, Harry. I've now received responses from all three wizarding colleges. A decision must be made about your future."

Harry moved to sit in the chair opposite Snape's desk, but the Headmaster scooped up the parchments on it and approached instead a pair of comfortable-looking wing chairs off to the side. Harry followed, feeling more irritation than invitation.

"Have you eaten, Harry?" Snape asked, in some kind of strange tone that Harry took to be his attempt at kindness and concern.

Harry was starving, despite having been at breakfast not long before. Lunch always seemed to arrive far too late, in his opinion, though the morning meal had become more hearty of late, with rashers, sausages, and cheeses to accompany the beans and oatmeal that had been a staple this year. This morning, he'd hardly eaten. Despite this, he had no desire to show any weakness or need to Snape.

"Thank you, I'm fine," he said curtly. "I'd like to get on with this, please. I should be studying for exams."

Snape ignored Harry and called for a House Elf, putting in a request for a plate of fruit, cheese, and chocolate biscuits to be sent up with milk and pumpkin juice.

Harry's resolve to show no hunger and accept no kindness faded quickly, once the food arrived. He helped himself to a full plate, taking most of the chocolate biscuits, and a glass of pumpkin juice. Snape took some fruit, cheese, and the milk.

"Helps with my complexion," Snape said casually, not looking at Harry. He took up three scrolls. "It seems you've earned yourself admission to Fellbridge and Covenhall. Admission for you to the Potions program at Cloakreth seems to be beyond both your fame and my magic, though earning a N.E.W.T. next week might allow for that in the following year. This leaves open Auror training and teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, both of which would seem to suit your natural talents better." As Harry stared silently, ignoring purposefully this mix of the expected derision and unusual praise from his godfather, Snape drew out the response cards and handed them to Harry. They were quite simple.

_ I decline this offer.

_ I accept this offer and confirm that I have the funds to support my endeavors for both years.

Harry held them in his hands mutely. He'd been working towards this moment for many years, but now it was here. A full year late, and yet it felt too soon. Despite all he'd been through, he still felt unprepared to leave the warm embrace of Hogwarts and enter the real world. Perhaps warm embrace was too strong a phrase, given the chill between him and the Headmaster. Perhaps that was Snape's motivation; to make it too unpleasant for Harry to stay, to make him glad to leave. If so, it wasn't working.

Both paths were open to him, and probably less boring than a Ministry job. He needed to talk to Ginny, to find out what schools she'd been accepted to. Or if she'd gotten a notice from the Chudley Cannons farm team. And Ron, Hermione, Luna, Neville, Seamus, Romilda, Dean, Cho, Michael, Parvati and Padma, Terry, Hannah, Anthony, all the others. That's where the warm embrace lay, his friends. Some teachers, but mostly his friends. He couldn't imagine making his way in the a Magical world without them nearby. They'd been with him every step since Sorting. And he'd just told them all off in spectacular fashion. The biscuits and fruit did a cartwheel in his stomach.

Snape found sitting next to Harry difficult. As Harry stared silently at the two small cards, he imagined him pondering his future and eventual separation from Hogwarts, the only true home he'd known, outside the Burrow. He knew the feeling well. Then he'd glance at Harry's face, see her eyes, see his face, dredging up the familiar toxic mix of regret, loss, anger, resentment, jealousy. He reminded himself again that he now shared in her blood, and his. They were present within him. As ever, a mixed blessing.

After a few more moments had passed, Snape intoned "You'll have until Thursday to respond, if you need time to think."

Harry did not want to seem indecisive, as though he hadn't been giving this decision careful thought for the past few months, despite the truth of his having put it firmly out of his mind just after his hand had stopped being sore from writing the application essays.

"Fellbridge," he said, looking around for a quill and ink.

"I suggest you take some time, Harry. Discuss it with your friends before you commit. Once you send back the cards, you are indentured to the school for the two years. To leave without completing your course of required service will result in both a fine and a censure from the Office of Higher Magical Education, an office over which I have precious little influence."

"I don't need to discuss this with anyone, Severus," he said hotly. "This was your idea in the first place, so I can't understand why you are objecting now. Isn't it enough for you to get your wish?"

"I wasn't talking about your needing my opinion, Harry," he replied with a measured tone. "Perhaps you may wish to discuss with Miss Weasley…"

Harry cut him off. "Leave Ginny out of this, Severus. I'll let you know if I decide to break up with her, just as you've asked. You are my godfather, after all. It is within your rights."

Snape stared at Harry, resisting the temptation to use Legilimency to try to understand what was going through his mind. He supposed Harry questioned why he'd asked him to be his godfather. Every approach he could conjure up was fraught with controversy, and he didn't trust himself fully not to simply launch into a full-blown lecture on how Harry should be treating his friends, that select, small group that could tolerate him. Instead, he reached for another bit of cheese (a fine Elvish Bleu) and took another sip of milk, wishing it were wine (Goblin, strong, as befit such an encounter).

Harry gritted his teeth a moment longer, then burst out. "Was it another suicide attempt, that lost duel in the alleyway?"

This jolted Snape a bit out of his own thoughts. "It may have been rather messy, but it wasn't a loss. Ethinian Ames was defeated in his attempt to kill Dr. Hunter, as well as Professor Trelawney and myself."

"You were nearly killed!" Harry spat back. "You probably wished you had been."

"No, I wish I had been sharp-witted enough to figure out the it was Dr. Hunter who'd used the third Port-key that had left traces in the street by the Malfoy's. Then fast enough to prevent this outcome for her. I would, indeed, gladly have laid down my life for hers, had it been useful to do so." He paused, looking into the empty fireplace. He hadn't truly saved her. She was living, but nothing more. "As I would for you and any other student in this school. As you would for your friends. Taking risks to defend others is a habit we share."

Harry had difficulty imagining that he and Snape would share any kind of inner motivation, but he admitted to himself that this was true. "Did you feel that way about my mother, too?"

Snape knew this question was coming, but was still surprised by Harry's courage in asking it. "Yes." An odd expression passed over the man's face, one of brief uncertainty. "I have wished many times over the years that I had been given just that chance."

"Why are you so bent on self-destruction now, after surviving so long?"

"Other than for her blood and your sake, why should I endure, Harry? I've been working all my life to be useful in a world that no longer exists. I simply am not needed."

"Hogwash!"

"I lack the skills for success in any other kind of life. You've had advantages I never had, Harry. For once, try to imagine a life different from your own." He could feel his efforts at remaining calm failing.

"I spent my first 11 years despised for reasons I couldn't fathom, living trapped under the stairs and treated like a freak, just like you."

"But you had her fire within you."

"And a piece of Voldemort's soul, too."

"Yes, indeed. Imagine coming to school, with only one friend. No one else knows you, no one thinks you are special. You have no reputation whatsoever, because you come from no one and you have nothing. Once at school, your friends are only interested in what you can do for them, not for who you are. Lucius Malfoy didn't befriend me out of house loyalty or altruism. He saw in me someone who was desperate to fit in, someone who could be manipulated to serve his needs, an opportunity to be taken advantage of. I worked like a three-headed dog to learn and use every last dram of Magic I could conjure up, to be useful to the more powerful ones around me, always hoping to finally fit in and be among the powerful myself, the 'in' crowd. You have little interest in developing your skills and talents, because you know you don't really need to. You'll still have friends, you'll still have your fortune, and you'll always be The Chosen One."

"I was 'Chosen' to fight the Dark Lord to the death. And most likely my own death, as well as his. It's not something I signed up for, you know."

Snape was getting irritated now, despite his attempts to control himself. "And I, too was conscripted to fight with my life, as penance for which there would never be a reward."

"You chose that life!"

"Yes, the mistake for which I've paid with every breath since then. I've lost everything, Harry, everything. Life itself is all I have left to give for release."

"But you won't go, you won't destroy the blood within you."

"You won't allow it, so I am now also indebted to you, perpetually," Snape said, disgustedly. _Just as I was to your father._

"How can you not see what you mean to anyone?" Harry replied, equally disgustedly.

"What other see in me is a Death Eater, a murderer, a collaborator, and an opportunist, as it ever will be."

'And a leader, a teacher, a mentor, a guide, and at least to Dr. Hunter, a lover. You would toss all that aside?"

"Dr. Hunter is not my lover. Leave her out of this discussion, Harry."

Harry, irritated to hear and echo of his own words, rose threateningly, as did Snape. "I'll say what I want, Severus," he said angrily, gesturing madly. "You two were obviously in love. Did she dump you once she found out you were once a Death Eater?"

Snape just stared at Harry, fire in his eyes, a Silencio charm forming in his mind, his fingers twitching towards his wand. "I have not told her everything about myself. I have no idea if she knows."

Harry smacked himself on his forehead in disbelief. "You can't let her find out from someone else! If she only gets information from the _Daily Prophet_ , she'll only get a bunch of lies and misrepresentations. That may be why she broke it off with you."

Snape had a strange, stony look to his countenance. "She didn't break it off."

Harry looked at the Headmaster gape-mouthed. "You can't be serious, no. You could not possibly have been so stupid as to break up with her."

"I didn't want to look like a fool, Harry."

"You believed the lies in the _Daily Prophet,_ didn't you? That rag of a scandal sheet. All the lies about you, about me, about the everyone, and still you were willing to believe them about her. Here's my advice to you, Severus. I will not allow your letting a witch of such uncommon distinction, one who is remarkable in her ability to tolerate you, get away without an effort. I insist that you do all within your power to mend whatever rift you've caused."

"I have no such skills, Harry. If love were as simple as mixing a Potion or calling up a Patronus, I would be surrounded by admirers constantly. It may have escaped your notice, but love doesn't work that way. Winning the heart of another takes more than Magical skills, it takes a skill all it's own, one of which I am sorely lacking, obviously."

"Blasting Bowtruckles, Snape, you can learn!"

"How? Reading Lockhart's books? I've already tried. The techniques he suggests would never work on a witch like Morgan, they are insultingly simple. She is beyond me."

Harry had within his mind some scathing retort, ready to fling in the direction of the Headmaster. At this confession, however, Harry stumbled and stopped. He looked at the wizard before him, slackjawed. There was no evidence that he was joking. Try as he might, Harry could stop the laughter that emerged. "Gilderoy Lockhart. Merlin's Beard, you are desperate."

Snape reached for his wand, as Harry turned to grab his own, still grinning uncontrollably. "Please, Severus," he said, holding up a wandless hand to stave off whatever spell might be cast in his direction shortly. "Please, don't." He continued to giggle. "You can't get this from books, you know."

Snape snarled, hand still on his wand. "Yes, I do know that, Harry. I am painfully aware of this fact."

Harry had managed to stop his giggling now, and slowly lowered his rather useless hand as the Headmaster lowered his wand equally slowly. Harry took in a few breaths to be sure he was in control of himself.

"Do you really love her, Severus?"

Snape slumped into his chair. "I do. My driving her away, her being hurt, it's killing me. And I have no idea how to mend this. This is beyond my skills."

"It's not," Harry said, finding himself speaking in the comforting voice he might to Ron about Hermione, or Neville about Potions many years ago. He sat and turned toward Snape.

Snape closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. When he looked up at last, he seemed very tired for this early in the day. "Harry, I need to get some things. Come with me," he said, rising.

It wasn't exactly a command, but not exactly an invitation that Harry had the right to refuse. Snape rose and went to the door. Harry prepared to trail behind the swirl of black robes when the Headmaster stopped and turned slightly, waiting to Harry to walk next to him. Harry blinked, then walked out of the castle, shoulder to shoulder with his godfather.

As expected, Snape was silent and his feet were directed to the Forbidden Forest, though not at the breakneck speed he usually strode. He seemed more thoughtful, yet still purposeful. Harry stayed close by, knowing getting lost in these thick woods would be easy (and dangerous). Finding his way out on his own would be difficult, if not impossible. It wasn't long before they were in a part of the forest Harry hadn't seen. Snape had yet to collect anything, despite there being any number of useful things along their path. Now that he'd spent the year assisting in the Potions classroom, Harry was able to identify dittany, asphodel, wormwood, deadly nightshade, even a circle of very rare amanita. A rock beneath which he was certain there was a nest of boomslangs was passed by, as well as several buzzing nests surrounded by clouds of lacewing flies. Harry regretted not having a few ready vials himself, knowing how useful lacewing flies were. Snape hadn't brought his sample case.

Not long after he'd completely lost track of where they had gone, they arrived at a clearing. Hyssop grew here in abundance and was in full bloom, pink, blue and white flowers bending with the breezes which carried along their scent of licorice. Snape stood tall and looked out across the field, his nose held high, eyes closed. After a moment, he drew two jars from a pocket inside his robe and handed one to Harry. "What are the most valuable parts of hyssop, Harry? Can you recall?"

Harry racked his brain, thinking. Had they ever dealt with hyssop in class before? What was in Snape's supply closet? Had he seen these flowers before? He closed his eyes and found that the scent in his nostrils took him back to a jar that smelled just like this. Keeping his eyes closed, he tried to envision what was in the jar. Flowers, and some green parts. Stems, leaves, roots, or seed pods? He made a guess. "The flower and stem." He opened his eyes and looked for a response.

Snape narrowed his eyes, then nodded slightly. "Partly. Examine the plant and try again."

Harry, long accustomed to castigation, was caught somewhat off guard by this measured response. He bent down and pulled a plant up carefully, keeping the root intact. He held each piece and one by one separated the components. When he pulled off the leaves and broke them open, a scent like anise burst out, bringing him back in an instant to the jar in the store room. "Flowers and leaves, sir."

At this response, Snape's grim expression softened slightly. "Yes, Mr. Potter. Now, collect the flower buds and leaves whole in the jar." He turned without another word and set to collecting.

Harry looked around and began with the plants closest to him. He plucked the leaves and flowers carefully off the stems and dropped them in the jar. His fingers began to turn pink from the stain. As he plucked, he stole occasional glances at his godfather. Ginny's and Hermione's words came back to him, as well as his own. When he himself had come to Hogwarts, he'd already had a reputation, was known everywhere within the Magical world. He hadn't known why, exactly, until later, but it was true that everyone knew him. When she'd first met him, Ginny could barely even speak to him; he'd laughed at her reaction then, but now understood that he had been a kind of mythical figure in her childhood. And he'd always had his parents' fortune. While he hadn't used it as a tool to hold over others, he also hadn't needed to worry about how to buy chocolate frogs on the train, things in Hogsmeade, or gifts for friends. His challenge was in not offending his friends' pride in offering too much. Even now, he wasn't panicked about his future. Maybe he should be, not knowing everything about the cost of living or paying taxes to the Ministry that would soon be his fate.

Snape arrived at school poor, unknown, and unloved, longing for escape from his home life (at least that was something they had in common). His thirst for advancement from poverty and into independence, by any means, was probably why he was sorted into Slytherin, rather than Gryffindor, despite his eventual bravery. Not Ravenclaw, despite his intelligence, not Hufflepuff, despite his loyalty. His most prominent characteristic had been ambition, to rise from where he started. And here he was, still at school, still poor, still alone, after all this time.

What might have become of himself, had he made friends with Draco Malfoy on that first train ride, if he had found himself in a carriage with Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini instead of Ron and Hermione? It was only random chance that he'd first befriended Ron. Harry wanted very much to believe that his life course was a destiny, that he would have rejected the Slytherins, regardless. What if Malfoy had been his traveling companion and earned his trust first? Things for him may have been very different. All those terrifying urges to hurt those he cared about might have seemed more reasonable, if he'd developed loyalties and friendship with the Slytherins first, as Snape had done. The Sorting Hat considered Slytherin for him, after all. What had he known about Houses and Sorting then? Only that he had wanted to be in Gryffindor, mostly because Ron was likely to be Sorted there, following his brothers. How easy it might have been for the whole of his life to play out in a different direction, one more like Snape's, had the train ride been different. One chance event, and he might have been set on a very different course. Had Snape found a friend on the train that was interested in a different house, who had been welcoming to a young, strange wizard, what might have become of the Headmaster, of Harry's family? Random chance, not only strength of will, could play such an influential role.

Harry glanced over at his companion. Unlike Harry, Snape's jar was filled, and he now stood still, looking out across the field. He noted how few times he'd seen his godfather in daylight and the effect was odd. The breezes took his robes and hair, his nose seeming larger than usual jutting out from his face; his coloring, ebony hair and eyes and sallow skin, looked otherworldly in a field of flowers surrounded by the forest, now bright green with spring colors. Almost as if he sensed Harry's gaze, he turned. He regarded Harry silently, no chance in his expression, until Harry broke the connection and returned his attention to his task. He recalled Snape's words on the shore after they'd both nearly drowned in the lake. Damaged beyond repair and wanting death. Possibly more now than before. Being unaware that he meant anything more to anyone other than what duties he had. Now committed by the presence of his mother's blood and his own admonition to endure. He considered for the first time what he had asked. A lifetime could be very long for a wizard. Snape's 50 years of probation only covered perhaps the first half of his life. What might that life look like? An endless stream of students, each class more undisciplined than the last; the possibility of changes to the curriculum, improvements in relationships between schools. But if he failed in matters of the heart, what was it all for? He was Snape's only family, his godson.

Harry's jar was now packed leaves and flowers. He stood and closed the lid as Snape began to move toward him. He drew in a nostril full of the smell, enjoying the sun, the winds, and the scents, the feel of the ground beneath his feet. The Forbidden Forest had never felt so welcoming as today. Harry pocketed the jar as Snape had done with his own and silently followed the Headmaster out of the clearing and into the dimness of the forest. As they walked, Harry wondered what was next. He was glad that he had accepted the biscuits and pumpkin juice, as it was now near lunch. They entered by the rear doors into the main corridor, where the sounds of lunch in the Great Hall could be heard. His nose seemed more sensitive than usual, and Harry could almost taste the pea soup and ham that was today's offering. Snape gave a slight shake of his head and instead directed his steps down to the dungeon.

"One last lesson, Harry," he said.

Harry felt a jolt run through him. He was so close to finishing school, but surely this wouldn't be the last? His mind raced, considering all that he still needed to know, not only about potions, but about living in the wizarding world as an adult.

Snape met his gaze. "Before your N.E.W.T. exams. Despite your apprenticeship in my classroom, there is more that would benefit you to know." This did not settle his mind at all.

Arriving in the classroom, Snape waved his wand and a formula appeared on the blackboard. Harry looked at it and got started. It was an extraction, separation, and concentration method. The vessel required was a thick-walled iron cauldron with a sealed top. Snape lectured as Harry put together what was required.

"The essence of hyssop is two-fold. The flowers have a pleasing fragrance, but the power lies within the leaves. Along with the active substance, there is great bitterness. If the Potion is to be effective, that bitterness must be removed, but can only be done under great pressure. Seal the cauldron and connect a condenser and a collection jar. Use high heat."

Once the leaves rested in the liquid in the cauldron and the heat was applied, Harry noted that some lunch had been delivered and he set to it with enthusiasm. The peas for the soup were fresh and the ham delicious. Snape continued to lecture and quiz him through the meal. "How can you tell when the reaction is over?" "How should you go about unsealing the cauldron?"

After the meal, Harry examined the vessels. The jar contained a dark liquid that smelled of the licorice scent he'd noted in the field. The cauldron was coated in a dark, tar-like substance. "Now that they've been separated, what to do with the bitter part, Harry?"

He considered this. Several potions made use of bitter components, and Snape was not one to waste. But this was foul and Harry wanted nothing more than to simply be rid of it. "This fraction lacks the active ingredient, so we should discard it."

Snape took the filthy cauldron in his hand and rolled it, the dark, sticky paste rolling around. He seemed to be seeing something within that Harry hadn't and spoke in a distant voice. "Yes, this has now outlived its purpose." He waved his wand, and the sticky mess vanished, leaving behind a clear cauldron, which he continued to observe as though something further might happen within it.

Nothing did. Harry considered the number of detentions he and Ron had spent cleaning cauldrons and lamented the time spent, when Snape could so easily do the job. This had given Snape more time to observe him, under the guise of punishment, though it could just have easily been a real punishment, given Harry and Ron's habit of not paying attention and generally fouling up the preparations.

Snape's attention turned to the collection jar. "What remains should be treated with care. It must be warmed to improve its power and stability, or it will break and fail."

Harry placed the collection jar within a water bath and applied a small flame. The swirling fumes drifted out as the liquid within grew darker. As this continued, Snape pointed to the flowers. "Press those carefully, then soak them to release their scent." Harry did so, noting the floral and spicy scent, pleasing to his senses. The resultant liquid was iridescent, a rainbow the color of the flowers from which it came. Snape handed him two clear, rounded, cut glass vials, far more decorative than the usual student vials. Harry filled each, then set a stopper. Snape then handed him a ribbon upon which was a label. His attention then returned to the concentrating potion, which now was about half what it had been before.

"Remove the jar from the heat and carefully pour into two portions." Rather than vessels or jars, Snape had brought two cups on saucers. Teacups. Harry gave him a quizzical look which earned him a small nod. He poured out the tea. "Now drink," Snape said.

Harry regarded the liquid suspiciously. He had no knowledge of hyssop or its purposes. Would it sharpen his mind for studying? Cause him to giggle uncontrollably? Cause boils? These seemed unlikely, as there were other potions with those purposes. Also, it was clear Snape intended to drink this, too, so it couldn't be damaging. Unless Snape had taken an antidote or developed a tolerance to it.

"What are you expecting, Harry? That I would poison you? Perhaps if you perform poorly on your exams I'll consider that. For now, enjoy your tea." Snape drew the cup to his own lips and drank, so Harry did the same.

It was like liquid licorice candy, warm and inviting. The classroom, damp and cold, despite the sunny warmth outside, now seemed less so, far more tolerable. The warmth filled him. Harry felt within him a swelling up of forgiveness, of understanding. He could not be angry forever, but would need to forgive. They were bound forever, his debt to Snape as great now as ever. Like leaving behind a heavy pack or casting off a wet woolen traveling cloak, he felt lighter. He couldn't bear so much resentment against someone who had traveled such a difficult road, someone very much like himself at the core, but with such different experiences. What he'd been thinking in the forest now became real.

Harry took another deep sip, while the liquid was still hot enough to be challenging, but before it became cool and flat. Another wave of warmth spread through him. "I'm sorry I was so angry, Severus. I couldn't stand to lose…" He was about to say _more of my parents._ But that wasn't the full truth. "Another person I care about."

Snape closed his eyes and set down his cup. He opened them again. "You are forgiven, Harry." He looked uncomfortable, then spoke further, with some effort. "I am also sorry, that I misunderstood your purpose in our Binding. I assumed you'd simply run out of options. I see now that I can be of some use to you beyond simply signing forms. And I shall endeavour to be of use to you from now on, as your godfather." This seemed to exhaust him, and he looked away.

"So," Harry said, breaking what was evolving into a rather intense silence. "What is the purpose of the other vials?"

Snape looked up. "Those?" he said, gesturing as Harry nodded. "They are gifts. Hyssop has long been associated with forgiveness and reconciliation."

"So they make the receiver forgive the person that gave it to them? Like this tea?" Harry asked.

"No," Snape said with a small grin. "Forgiveness, much like love, can't be procured artificially from a potion. It must arise naturally. Hyssop perfume is merely symbolic, conveying its meaning, but not having active ingredients."

Harry was reasonably sure he knew the intended recipient. "So you've had me help you make a forgiveness perfume to give to Dr. Hunter when she wakes up, then?"

Now Snape's grin grew. "In part. I plan to offer one to her, yes."

"And the other?"

"It's yours, Harry. In the realm of wizards and witches, it is likely you'll need it for Miss Weasley."


	36. Chapter 36: Owls

**Good evening, readers. I think you will enjoy this much-anticipated chapter. PLEASE re-read chapters 33, 34, and 35 if you read them before August 29th (today), as I needed to make some changes and additions so that things still make sense and I'm not leaving out any of the students who though they deserved some notice. They get testy when they think they are being insufficiently noticed.**

 **There is more to come. I hope you enjoy it. If you do, please review. If not, PM me. :-)**

 **Cheers, DN**

Snape gritted his teeth as two owls descended upon him at the staff table before he'd even had a bite of breakfast the following Monday. He'd been very clear that his mail should be discreetly delivered to the Headmaster's office and not to the Great Hall so as not to make a spectacle of his post. His levels of tolerance had improved somewhat recently, as he continued to practice what he hoped was a more _fatherly_ approach to the school as a whole, though his patience had hardly reached that of an ordinary wizard. On an empty stomach, his tolerance was markedly lower.

The first owl, a lovely speckled snowy white owl, delivered a small scroll, sealed with a red bit of wax and smelling a bit like some kind of spice, addressed to "Hogwarts' Potions Instructor." He snapped off the wax and read the parchment.

" _Morgan, my dearest,_

 _I was delighted to see you again at my most recent visit there. I enjoyed our conversation during your visit to the Ministry over the winter holiday a great deal, as you know. Our not being able to find an agreeable time for another of your lectures here has been vexing me to no end, as I have told a number of my higher-placed colleagues that you'd come. They can be very helpful to your future, as could I._

 _Word of your recent incident has reached me, to my great distress, but I am told you are now well on your way to recovery. I'll come to Hogwarts to visit you, as soon as you are on your feet again. In the meantime, Hypatia and I will begin an investigation into negligence on the part of the Headmaster connected with this most unfortunate event. Justice for you will be served. Once this mess has blown over, I hope you'll find a few moments for a meal and some conversation about your future plans. The Ministry has great need for someone of your considerable talent that I'd love to discuss with you. I'll be eagerly awaiting your reply by this owl._

 _Yours, Parse."_

Parse Winder, that lousy creep. The Department of Magical Education was launching an investigation, was it? And he'd come see Morgan as soon as she was recovered. Winder had made the intended recipient intentionally vague, knowing how likely it would be that he would read it, making sure that he would know that he was in pursuit of Morgan, to arouse his jealousy. The white owl was clearly expecting to deliver a response, but first he took the other scroll from the large powerful brown owl (clearly an official Ministry owl)

He unrolled the second much larger scroll and read it.

" _To: Headmaster Severus Snape, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 _From: Paracelsus Winder, Minister of Magical Education_

 _Professor Snape: Pursuant to reports of unlicensed Scorpion Venom being present at the school, as well as said Venom being unsecured in the presence of minors, and following on reports of inappropriate relationship with a student (Miss Janiss Ames), the Department of Magical Education will shortly be launching an investigation into these matters. I and my deputy will initiate the investigation at our regularly-scheduled visit to the school. When the key witness, Dr. Morgan Hunter, is recovered from her life-threatening injuries resulting from this unsecured substance, she will be compelled offer a preliminary statement. An advocate is not necessary, as the truth shall no doubt be sufficient material from which to assess whether there is any need to investigate further or file an indictment."_

The scroll went on quite a good deal further, with lots of _therefores_ and _hences_ formally summarizing the intent of the Minister. So Parse Winder and Hypatia Alexander were to visit this week, before Hunter, the key witness, was even available to speak. He wrote a short note, sealed it with his wand, and sent the white owl off. He stifled a grin and pocketed both parchments and, leaving his breakfast untouched, then strode out of the Great Hall. Students looked at each other in anxiety, wondering if the Headmaster's stern mood bode poorly for their upcoming O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams.

Walking past the long house tables, he heard a small voice call for him from the Gryffindor table. "Good morning, Professor Snape!" He muttered a return greeting and continued on his way, then sensed a small person had stood up and followed him. He stopped and turned suddenly, causing a small witch with a book satchel almost as heavy as herself to collide headlong into him. Despite the gasps from nearby students and the hush that fell on those nearby, waiting with anticipation to hear in what way Snape would humiliate this little pest, she looked up at him and said "Are you going to Potions class now?" He did not respond. "Sir?"

His expression chilly, he said "Yes, obviously, Miss Oglethorpe. It is Monday after breakfast. Where else would I be going? Is there something you need?"

She grinned. "Oh no," she said. "I'll just walk with you."

Snape looked shocked for a moment, then troubled, then confused, then resigned. "Alright then, you may accompany me, if you choose to." He turned to resume course, then felt the intrusion of a small hand in his. His first impulse was to shake off her hand and lecture her on the proper distance between a teacher and a student. The phrase he'd had in his head so often the past week, _What would Morgan do?,_ answered itself. He allowed his hand to be held. As they strode out of the hall, he attempted not to notice when she turned over her shoulder and stuck her tongue out at Ron Weasley, who looked on in disbelief as his friends snickered. The evidence that some bet had been lost brought another smirk to the tall man's face as he slowed his pace to allow Miss Oglethorpe's smaller stride to keep up with his.

Morgan awoke in darkness, not sure where she was. Was she dreaming or in the afterlife? Was she Ethinian's captive? Had her taken her back to Sedona? The warmth of the desert sun surrounded her, deep into her bones. Listening, she heard mostly silence. Was she now deaf? Not wanting to make any noise lest that alert her possible guard, she now inhaled slowly through her nose, keeping her breathing as controlled as if she were still sleeping. She smelled oil and soot, freshly cleaned linens, dampness, and medicinal herbs. Her skin and her nose were in conflict. Where was she? Cautiously, without moving her head, she opened one eye slightly and looked around as much as she could without moving. The light where she lay was low, from a lantern on a table beside her bed. There were no others that she could see, so she slowly opened one eye fully. There was the now-familiar four-quartered school crest of Hogwarts on the wall. She was still at the school, in the infirmary. She hadn't been captured by Ethinian. She repressed her instinct to sigh with her relief. She'd lived somehow, even though that amount of scorpion venom should have killed a giant. Ethinian hadn't been taking any chances; he'd used the venom full strength. He probably didn't even know how valuable it was. If he had, he would have used it diluted, then sold the rest after she was dead. A little was nearly as good as a lot with scorpion venom.

 _Severus._

Visions of her last visit to the dungeon crashed in. She felt again her determination and hope rising. Followed closely by the excursion to the Malfoy's and the Binding that had taken away all her hope with Severus. The duel in the alley in Hogsmeade, the way he'd fallen, Sybil running to his aid when she herself was completely incapacitated, his head resting lovingly in her lap, her panic at his injuries. She'd lost control of her emotions, allowed herself to be vulnerable, allowed her shock and despair at Severus' wedding to blind her to the danger she knew she faced.

She'd stopped traveling and speaking, knowing that Ethinian would not hesitate to use any opportunity to attack her. Yet that day, she ignored every rational precaution in her pursuit...of what? Had she simply wanted to wallow in her own loss? What difference did it make if he didn't want her because he was to be married or simply because he didn't? The end result was the same.

Had he survived? She berated herself silently, clenching her teeth. Her foolishness had put the wizard she loved in possibly fatal danger and she had not protected him. Like when Phillipus died. She'd always been protective of him in ways he never even knew about, knowing how ruthless Ethinian was. Had she gone with him that night, as she should have, it would have been a simple matter of Levicorpus. Had she controlled herself more, she would have remained safe within the walls of the school grounds. Both she and Severus would be fine. Sybil would have her wedding day unspoiled.

She was back where she'd started, she thought angrily. What if she'd arrived in the dungeon sooner? If she'd told him how she felt without knowing his plans? Would it have changed anything? Speculation was useless. What was done was done; she would honor the Bond, her friendship with Sibyl and Severus.

Death, she had once wished for it. But at the moment it seemed imminent, as she felt it gathering around her, she'd wanted life more than anything. She struggled to remember what she'd pictured for herself, what was it that she was losing in death, now cheated? Mentally, this was an empty space filled with nothing. Work, yes. Teaching, probably, but only for a few more months. She'd written letters to her friends in Sedona, but never sent them. She had made no efforts to secure her next position. Probably not wise. She'd only had enough stamina to teach and eat, and neither of them well.

Once she was out of the infirmary, she would leave Hogwarts, return to Sedona, then decide. In the worst-case scenario, she could establish a private practice as a Potioneer, though she might need to register with the Council's Department of Apothecaries, Alchemists, and Potions-Makers. She pictured herself making simple, pitiful commercial potions, some talentless clerk, probably a squib, ringing them up, then closing up shop and heading home. To what? Cats?

Teaching was likely out, but maybe something in the Council, in the Formulations Division. Then she'd be a bureaucrat. Probably a higher-level bureaucrat, given her publications and history, but a bureaucrat nonetheless. This line of imagining wasn't helping.

After a flash of herself peddling crystals, minerals, and herbs to Muggle tourists in a dusty shop in the desert, she shuddered and returned her attention to the present. She might never get out of here. Her life itself was a miracle, the rest of her recovery uncertain. She might have been lying here for any amount of time. She began to try to sense the rest of her body, to see if she could move. Something was covering her body, something soft, warm, radiant, a fine vibration across her skin. The sensation covered her back, neck, shoulders, and arms, but stopped at her waist. Her legs seemed absent, any attempt to wiggle toes or bend knees useless. They each seemed to weigh 500 pounds. What of her arms, her hands? As she prepared to wiggle her fingers, she noticed that one hand felt different from the other. The left, extending beyond the sleeve of the garment, felt the soft cotton of the bed sheets. The right felt warmer, with some different texture, vibration but of a different sort from the robe. The vibration from the garment was fast, so much so it was more like a buzzing, each individual vibration impossible to make out. This was a much slower vibration, stronger and deeper. She opened her eyes once again, only slightly, then pulled her eyes as much to the right as possible without moving. It took her some time to make out a dark figure sleeping in an armchair next to her bed, one hand resting on its belly, the other holding hers gently. Long legs extended, head resting back, a large nose pointing upward from a head of dark hair.

 _Severus._

The warmth from his hand and the soft sounds of his snoring told her all she needed to know. He was alive and apparently not overly damaged.

What in the name of all the was Magical was he doing here, in the middle of the night? He should be in the care of his wife, not here, holding the hand of another witch. He'd rejected her, she remembered with disgust. He'd cast a Binding spell on her. She recalled with smugness his poorly-hidden surprise at how easily she'd cast them off. He hadn't spoken to her in months outside the professionally-required staff interactions. Now this? He was nothing but contradiction to her. By turns kind to her and cruel, committed and distrustful. To students, loyal, caring, bullying, sarcastic. A reputation for skill and ferocity, but defeated by Ethinian in Hogsmeade. Supposedly a former Death Eater, but a war hero to many for defeating the Death Eaters and their leader. Which was the real Severus Snape? And what did it matter to her?

She chose not to try to speak, nor to withdraw her hand, so as not to awaken him. Instead, she simply observed, for how long, she didn't know. She had never had the opportunity to simply look at him, had never seen him asleep. He seemed thinner and paler than she remembered, even in the low light. His long fingers stretched white across the black fabric of his jacket, the others wrapped around her palm.

On the table behind him, a cluster of parchment notes, many including children's drawings, mostly of potions equipment, cauldrons, burning fires, vials, and jars. It was too dim to read the messages, but the sentiment was clear. Her young students knew she was in the hospital and missed her. Perhaps they were worried for her, too. What was happening in her classes?

Behind them, a colossal shower of asters in every color possible, with more on tables further away.

Asters. They always reminded her of Phillipus and did so now.

A small vial of some kind of Potion, swirling iridescence. Who knew what it did.

Her wand, out of her reach, on the table. Severus Snape between her and her wand. She didn't care for that arrangement. She would need to retrieve it as soon as no one else was around.

She began to take inventory of her senses. She had the taste of rust and spinach in her mouth. It was not pleasant, but it did mean she could taste. Now scent. She smelled the fabric of her garment, warm and sunny; the aromatic scent of the potions lab on Severus, combined with a shadow of hyssop. She focused now on hearing. The tiny sounds of the wick in the lantern, the slow breaths of Severus sleeping.

Was she a captive here? How long had she been unconscious? Why was Severus watching over her instead of staying with Sybil? Did she require constant supervision? She reminded herself that he'd cast a Binding spell on her before, rejected her, believed she'd lied to him. He was as untrustworthy as they came and she'd been a fool to think him otherwise, to believe she'd found another wizard like Phillipus. He was a "former" Death Eater and she'd seen how fierce he could be if provoked, though why Ethinian was able to defeat him, she still didn't understand.

Thinking back, she realized that she hadn't attempted to leave the castle since she returned from the winter holidays. She had chosen not to travel to lecture, but what if she had? Would her requests have been denied? And that winter holiday... Was Winder overly attentive because he wanted to be so, or because he was asked to supervise her by Snape? Had there been someone watching her at the inn, even after Winder had finally left for the evening? With all the crowds on the street, she might never have noticed. She'd been able to leave at her will to go to Malfoy Manor, but was that because Snape was gone at the time? _He's wily and manipulative, don't forget that. You've seen yourself how he handled Janiss and Ethinian, Parse and Hypatia. It's like a game to him. Who knows what he's been up to._ _Best escape this place as quickly and as quietly as you can,_ she told herself. _You are likely still in danger and he said himself that Death Eaters can be possessive. Escape before he even knows you are awake. Get your wand and go._ She vowed to take the opportunity as soon as she was sure she was strong enough and not supervised. _For now, stay still until you are sure of your strength. Ethinian may still be somewhere outside the castle, so even if you escape the school, he may be waiting in the village. Be on your guard._

After two days had passed, she found she was never alone. Always, there was someone watching her, someone guarding her. Madame Pomfrey, student apprentices, a House Elf, and overnight, Snape. How could she truly test her strength with someone always there? Every part of her _felt_ well enough. She'd regained all feeling in her legs and feet now, but she could never move to test them or any other body part, only tense up her muscles in the darkness. She was also nearly mad with hunger. She would need to reveal her recovery soon, whether or not it was ideal. Snape kept asking about her condition, no doubt concerned for her capability to escape. She would need to get her wand.

That night, when she was certain Snape was fully asleep, she opened her eyes and tested her arms and legs for the first time. The exercise she'd been doing in the dark had worked; they moved just fine now. She heard the sound of small feet coming closer. A house elf emerged out of the darkness not long after and let out a squeak, noting that Hunter's eyes were open and she was stirring. The squeak in turn woke up Snape, who quickly withdrew his hand, allowing hers to drop to the bedside.

"What is it, Will?" he asked, snapping to full consciousness.

"Dr. Hunter's eyes were open, sir, and her arm was moving! I think she may be waking up. I'll go get Madam Pomfrey," the excited house elf said, already half-way down the ward.

Snape half-stood, scooted the armchair closer to the bedside and took Hunter's hand once more, looking into her eyes. "Can you feel me holding your hand, Morgan?" he said quietly.

She wanted to yank her hand away, but felt it best not to give evidence of her revulsion. He should think she was weak and vulnerable. Perhaps then he would lower his guard at some point and give her an opportunity to get her wand. She managed to nod slightly as though it were difficult.

A look of relief spread over his face. "Can you speak?" She let only a gurgle come out. He put a finger to her lips to stop her further attempts, as Madam Pomfrey swept in, a vial of orange potion in her hand and a Will, the house elf, following with a tray of food. She quickly apprised the situation, as her patient's eyes and face now followed her movements as she moved from the near to the far side of the bed.

"This is antidote, Dr. Hunter. Can you swallow?" the healer asked without preamble.

Antidote, to what? Scorpion venom? There was no such thing and they would know that she knew it. What could this Potion be? To resist would be to give away the secret of her strength. Hunter nodded and opened her mouth slightly as Poppy pulled out the cork and began to pour the orange potion in. This was where the rust and spinach flavor came from, but it was now mixed with the tastes of witch hazel, willow, and something floral. It was repulsive, difficult to swallow. There was no antidote, but she'd survived. Perhaps this Potion was what had effected her survival; she drank it thirstily. Will handed her a goblet of pumpkin juice (Merlin's beard, she was sick of this vile stuff) which she also drank quickly, followed by some water.

As the Potion went down, she closed her eyes to focus on the sensation as it entered her stomach and began to flow into her blood. Her heart began to beat more forcefully. She felt greater strength flowing across her body, warming her from within as the garment on her warmed her from without. She began to move her arms and twitch her feet, as though she were just regaining their use. She squeezed Snape's hand and was surprised by the look on his face, some mixture of relief and possibly joy. It was fleeting, so she wasn't sure. Perhaps a trick of the dimness still surrounding them.

Pomfrey asked "Is it getting better?" and Hunter nodded. "Good! Let's give it time to work fully. I'll come back in an hour for a more complete exam. I'll see if she needs another dose then, perhaps at midday." She dismissed the house elf and then turned to Snape. "I assume I can rely on you to monitor Dr. Hunter, Severus? Send for me if there is anything other than improvement. I'll be back later."

She walked out, leaving the two of them alone in the lamplight.

"Morgan," Snape said, still holding her hand, his feeling cool and clammy. "Can you speak at all now?"

She tried, but her vocal cords were not functioning well. She'd had no chance to test them until now. "Severus," she said, her voice cracking in a way she thought seemed particularly weak. She let a tear slide down her face.

Snape reacted with alarm that she felt was an affectation. "Morgan, are you hurting? I have plenty of Pain Potions."

She shook her head no.

"How can I help you? Is the recovery painful?"

Yes, it was incredibly painful, agony really, to sit here in the darkness, holding the hand of her former love, his having been recently married to another. Plotting her escape from a wizard she once believed she could trust and who now seemed menacing. She shook her head no. He looked relieved.

She needed information. She spoke again with effort in her voice, her eyes locked with his. "How long have I been here, Severus?"

"A week and a half. It is Wednesday night now, actually Thursday morning."

She sighed. She had been unconscious for nearly a week, awake (and starving) for three days. She eyed the food on the tray. "I'm so hungry, Severus," she said.

"Of course, let me help you." He helped her sit up, while she eyed her wand over his shoulder and made sure she didn't betray her strength. Once, she was sitting up, he rested the tray on her lap. Again, she tried not to betray how strong she was, but it was difficult to stop herself from bolting down every morsel in 30 seconds. The food was warm and delicious, a cream of white asparagus soup and roasted pork loin with warm French bread and Scottish butter. He stayed close and watched her eat. As she did, Snape filled her in on the events of that day, her being carried back to the school, Madame Pomfrey caring for her, the students' concerns.

"Did Ethinian escape?" she asked in between swallows of the restoring soup.

Here, Severus allowed a sardonic smile to cross his lips that brought her mind to how frightening he had been, preparing for battle with Ethinian in the alley. "Yes. Initially. He was found only two hours later, dead."

She regarded him carefully, looking for signs of regret or remorse in him, and saw none. This worried her further, his having no apparent concern for the death of another, until she noticed that she, too, had no sadness or surprise at this news. "Who killed him?" She wanted to know who to thank later, as well as who to be wary of.

"I believe you did, Morgan."

At this, she turned her head towards him questioningly.

"It would seem your drooling on him was quite effective. He'd tried to wipe it away, but used his bare hand, which only spread it further. There was enough venom still in your mouth to kill him." She turned away, not wanting to show him how pleased she was, how smug. She was ashamed of herself for taking pleasure in having killed him, but this was paired with an uncomfortable amount of pride. Taking pleasure in killing was wrong, wasn't it, even though he was attempting to kill her? It would be a simple matter to demonstrate self-defense were she to be tried in court on the matter, but still, she'd killed another person and was not as horrified at herself as she thought she should be. He was gone, never to bother her again. He'd brought it on himself, mostly. He had no idea how dangerous scorpion venom was and hadn't known to wash it off immediately with urine of some kind.

Her thoughts turned to Janiss, wondering what she was feeling. Poor girl, all she'd been through too much at such a young age.

"Janiss?" she asked.

"She was informed of his death the following day. Her presence was required to identify him. Professor Flitwick, her Head of House, delivered the news and accompanied her to the morgue. She seems to have taken it well, but a next of kin for her has yet to be identified."

Silence descended. They both knew who her closest kin was.

Now Hunter uttered the question that she'd wanted to know the answer to the most. "How am I alive if a skin exposure to my drool could kill a wizard at least twice my size?"

A shadow of some kind of emotion passed over Snape's face. "You were given an antidote."

"Antidote? There's no such thing. Where did it come from?"

Snape looked away and placed her hand on the blanket.

She repeated herself, more accusingly this time. "Where did it come from? Scorpion venom is fatal, and I got a lot."

Snape looked down, leaning over his elbows now resting on his knees. He seemed uncomfortable, like he was hiding something from her. She wasn't surprised. _Think of all his hidden from you before._ He winced, putting his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "Morgan, when I thought you would die, I…." He didn't finish the sentence.

He was resisting her, when she needed him to feel at ease. "You should go, Severus. Get your rest." She lay back as though exhausted herself. "You'll be teaching, and Sybil will miss you."

Snape was shaking his head in disagreement, until the last. "What does Professor Trelawney have to do with anything?" he said, narrowing his eyes. "I have stepped in to teach your classes, but my advanced students are also helping. Trelawney has no qualifications in Potions. I'll stay."

She was going to need to work harder. She protested yet again. "Go. Please. I won't have Sybil angry with me, she's a good friend."

"I ask you again," he said, more testily than before. "Why do you mention Professor Trelawney? She's fine, wasn't hit with a curse or hex."

"Can you please take the tray, Seveurs? I think I'd like to rest again," she said sweetly.

He stood, gathered the tray and took it to the table next to the adjacent bed.

Hunter saw her opportunity, with Snape no longer impeding her access to her wand. She sprang out of bed, grabbed her wand and turned.


	37. Chapter 37: Interrogation

**I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Dr. Hunter is not one to be underestimated.**

 **Cheers, DN**

He took her tray to the table at the next bed for Will to retrieve later, his heart beating wildly. She was awake and seemed to have her senses and abilities back. She seemed weak, but now there was hope. Another dose or two of antidote and she might be fully back to herself. He had a chance, but he must begin as soon as possible to woo her, to apologize, to plead, with no delay. The sun was beginning to rise on the morning and he had classes and his appointment with Winder and Alexander later in the day. But he had no worries about what the Ministry might try, for Morgan was getting better. Then he heard a sudden movement, her feet hitting the floor, the sound of her wand scraping the surface of the table as she took it.

His plan began to fall apart.

He turned. "Morgan, no!" Her wand was pointed at him, her face stormy and determined. His hand moved towards his own wand in defense. Sparks tumbled from the end of her wand as he did so.

"Don't ever raise your wand at me again, Snape," she hissed in fury. "I won't show mercy like last time." His mind raced, knowing what a mess he was in now. He wanted her recovery more than anything, but must it be today of all days? Now he wished she had spent just one more day unconscious.

He relaxed his hand and drew it further away from his wand. "Will!" he called out.

"Calling for backup, Snape? From a house elf?" she sneered, none of the quivering weakness left in her voice now.

Will appeared, then paled at the sight that met him. He placed both hands in the air to show he had no wand. "Y-y-y-es, Headmaster?" he stammered, not taking his eyes off Hunter's wand for an instant.

"Get me Arboreus Hobble now, no excuses."

Will did not reply, but took off at a run as fast as his legs would go out of the room.

"Your lawyer, Snape? That's novel, but useless. I'll be going now, and I'd advise you not to impede me further," she said coolly, her wand held steady in his direction.

"You can't leave, Morgan," Snape said urgently.

"So now I am your captive, instead of Ethinian's. I'm not sure that's an improvement," she spat.

"You are not my captive, Morgan. The Minister of Magical Education will be here shortly, if he's not already here, to launch an investigation. You'll be obliged to testify. You can't Apparate from the school and they will have already put out notice to all PortKey and Floo Network operators to ban you from leaving." He regarded her with wary confusion, his wand hand ready should he need it. This wasn't going well. Will walked in again, as pale and nervous as before, hanging closely by Snape's robes.

"They are all here, Headmaster," he said, then retreated quickly.

"Professor Hunter, you must come with me to my office immediately. I'll explain on the way."

She eyed him coldly, then slowly lowered and pocketed her wand. He approached with caution. He took her elbow and steered her quickly down the hall. There was so much he needed to say, and so little time on the walk between the infirmary and his office. The first glow of the sunrise was beginning to light the windows in the otherwise dark corridor. He slowed his pace, hoping to gain a little more time as his mind raced and his thoughts tumbled upon one another. "A message intended for you was accidentally misdirected to me." He handed her the scroll, which she read. She rolled it up and pocketed it. "I need to talk to you about that later, Morgan," he said, continuing to hold her elbow and guide her down the hall.

She shook off his hand with a sharp jerk of her arm, stopped, and rounded on him. "I have no interest in talking about this," she said forcefully. "This is my private business, intercepted, or 'misdirected,' as you say. And I'll thank you to unhand me. Your word is enough, Headmaster." She resumed her rapid pace towards his office, leaving him to follow behind.

Both were nearly out of breath as they approached the gargoyle. This was his last chance to warn her, to prepare her for what was about to happen. "Dr. Hunter," he started. "Please wait for a moment." He was relieved when she actually did so, despite the glare that accompanied this. But the gargoyle had already stepped aside, knowing better than to slow down this Headmaster when he was in this kind of mood. Before he could say more, she stepped into the anteroom and mounted the spiral staircase, taking two or three at a time despite her short legs.

Once they reached the large round room, he barely glanced in greeting to the pudgy, boyish man sitting there, nor Bina, who was near her writing desk, still looking sleepy. "Arboreus, good of you to come. Dr. Hunter, you'll recall Arboreus Hobble, my advocate. Hobble, my colleague, Dr. Morgan Hunter." Hobble stuck out a hand towards Hunter, but Snape shoved the large parchment scroll into it. "Read that," he said shortly.

It didn't take long. A worried look came over his face, his brow furrowed. "Who's the witness? Her?" he said rapidly, gesturing at Hunter.

"Yes," Snape replied.

"Where is the Scorpion Venom now?"

"Unknown."

"So there was Scorpion Venom in the school."

"Yes."

"This puts you in a rather delicate position, Severus."

"I know. That's why I called you," Snape said. "My 'delicate position' is precisely what I pay you to maintain."

Hobble gave a nervous laugh. "I'll do my best, but there's very little time to prepare…"

At that moment, there was a knock at the door, which was opened before Snape could move or speak. He felt a tumble in his stomach and was grateful there was nothing yet in it. A horrified Bina stood aside as Parse Winder strode in purposefully, taking inventory of those in the room, extending a hand to Snape first. Snape returned the gesture with no enthusiasm. Hypatia Alexander followed. At her entrance, Hunter noted a change in his demeanor. Snape took her hand enthusiastically and held it for much too long. Alexander sized up Snape hungrily, in full view of her boss and everyone else in the room. Snape smirked as she grinned.

"Severus, Severus," the wizard chortled, attempting to divert attention away from their handshake. "Good to see you, old man, but under such...unfortunate circumstances." He had clearly continued his physical training, his former paunch now vanished fully and his shoulders stretching the contours of his robes.

"Minister Winder," said Snape with no emotion. He released Alexander's hand. Winder worked his way around the room, shaking hands with Hobble and Hunter.

"Arboreus Hobble, how's practice? And Mrs. Hobble, how is she? And little ones hobbling around?" Winder said jovially, slapping Hobble on the shoulder. Hobble righted himself, shaking his head. "Well, just keep trying, old man, just keep trying! Haha." He then turned to Hunter.

"And the brilliant, talented, underutilized Dr. Morgan Hunter," he said, taking her hand in both of his and raising to his lips. "So good to see you again. Your talk at the Ministry, inspiring, I tell you." He released her hand and turned back to face Snape and Hobble again. "This one has all the wizards wanting to study Potions, no doubt! Haha. Well," he said, the mood changing instantly. "Let's get down to the unpleasant business at hand, shall we?"

Snape snapped his fingers and three additional chairs appeared, in addition to the velvet armchair that was traditionally opposite his desk, which Hobble had already taken, having been the first to arrive. Hunter sat on the conjured overstuffed purple wing chair, Alexander on a blood-red leather club chair, leaving the wooden ladder backed chair for Winder, who sat down as though it were the most comfortable chair imaginable, his powerful frame audibly straining the wood. Bina took her place at the small writing desk to Snape's right. Winder opened a well-worn brown leather satchel and withdrew a parchment scroll.

"Alright then, Professor Snape. Just a few questions to clear some things up for the Ministry. Firstly, let me make note that you are on probation, Professor Snape, stemming from your sentencing on charges of being a Death Eater, Unlawful Use of Magic, etc., etc. I'm sure we are all familiar with the long list," he noted, glancing at Hunter.

"Charges of which he was acquitted," Hobble interjected, leaning towards Winder. "Be sure that gets written, Bina. He was acquitted by the Wizengamot. The charges for which he is serving his probation are minor charges." He leaned back, but remained on alert, ready to respond.

Hunter looked at Snape. "For how long does his probation last?" she asked, turning to Winder.

He looked at her and smiled. "Fifty years. Only about forty-nine now, though. Under the conditions of the agreement, he is to remain here at Hogwarts except on school business that requires him to be elsewhere, at which time he must be escorted by another member of the staff. Likewise, any income or assets earned during this time which exceed basic needs are to be confiscated by the Ministry." Here he turned back to Snape, sneering. "But as the public records have shown, Professor Snape has no known assets of any kind and is paid a pittance here at the school." At this, Snape met Winder's sneer with a dismissive smile and a shrug.

"Let's move on," Winder said, unrolling the scroll a bit further. "During your probation, last fall, there was a report of, shall we say, an inappropriate relationship with a student, Janiss Alden."

"He was framed, that was conclusively proven by the student's own statement," Hobble spat out. "That is irrelevant and should be removed from your records. He was the unwilling target of a student's misplaced affections, nothing more."

Winder crossed his legs and sat back as much as was possible as the tall straight back of his chair squeaked its disapproval. "Misplaced, I should say so," he said smoothly, returning Snape's icy glare. "But were that to be seen as part of a...pattern, the incident might need to be re-examined, I suppose," he said, not breaking from Snape's eyes.

Snape seethed inside. The whole situation was volatile enough already. Scorpion Venom was a problem in itself, but one that he could deal with. If Pansy Parkinson had decided to leak her poorly doctored picture, he would have a bigger problem. Winder only wanted a reason to indict him and put him on trial, and he would find one if he were motivated enough, even if he had to utilize a photo that was clearly faked. Shacklebolt had probably done all he could for him. He stole a look at Hunter, who regarded him coolly. He was losing her. She'd survived, and he was already losing her. Before the Scorpion Venom incident, she had been distant, but now she was clearly set against him. Now he knew why. He had a rival. Parse Winder was luring her away. And who could blame her? Parse was young, vigorous, ambitious, already highly-placed in the Ministry. She would have incredible influence over the direction of Potions education if she were to marry him, perhaps embarking on a world-wide fact-finding tour of the Magical schools of the world. Not to mention combining her considerable fortune with his. Or she might choose the thin, pale, poor schoolmaster, with no future other than fifty years of misery, locked away in the north of Scotland. How delightful for her to have all this described in detail now, when things had already been going so poorly. Why had she drawn her wand at him? He had been devoted to her, staying by her bedside as she healed, teaching her classes. He had filled her room with flowers, made a Potion of forgiveness. And now, when she seemed to regard him with distrust and suspicion, this mess of a day. He tried to dismiss the images of his future without her, a nearly unbearable though. _Stick to your plan,_ he told himself. _What else can you do? Just keep going._

"I can't imagine what you are trying to imply, but I suggest you address the reason you are here today, Minister," Snape said threateningly, his eyes narrowed.

Winder smiled broadly. "Of course, let's discuss the unlicenced Scorpion Venom, shall we?" He sat up and read from his scroll. "Was there unlicensed Scorpion Venom being held here at Hogwarts' School?"

"I have no idea if it was licensed or not," Snape replied.

"No idea? Let's establish this fact. Was there Scorpion Venom at the school, licensed or otherwise?"

"Yes."

"How did it get here?" At this, Hunter looked pale and cleared her throat. She had brought it with her from Sedona, then lied about its being appropriately documented with the Ministry here. She was embarrassed by her deception, but even more dismayed about what this could mean for Snape. Would he lose his job and be jailed for her poor judgement? It seemed like a small paperwork error at the time, and she'd put it out of her mind immediately after their discussion about it, never to follow up on getting it registered. Her nerves rattled at the thought of the bringing down of Severus Snape by the Ministry due to her unlicensed Scorpion Venom. One could triumph over the Dark Lord, but not the bureaucrats. She distrusted him, wanted to escape, but had no desire to see his career destroyed. Before she could speak, Snape interrupted.

"I believe it was left here from the previous Potions Master, Horace Slughorn. I would have to check some very old records to see if it was licensed, or if he obtained it before the Ministry decreed a license be required for such things. That was many years ago, it may take a while, but I am happy to ask one of the house elves to begin searching Professor Slughorn's archives."

"Why would I believe that this was old venom and not simply your own supply being blamed on poor old Horace, who is not even here to confirm or deny?"

Snape gestured towards Hunter, who put her hands to her throat in shock, her mouth hanging open. He was going to turn her in now, reveal her stupidity. First he'd protected her, now he was going to betray her? She prepared herself for the revelation. "She's living proof, Winder, LIVING PROOF. If it had been even only ten years old, she'd have died on the spot in an alley in Hogsmeade."

Hunter sat in stunned silence. Where was Snape going with this? It was her venom and he knew it. He was protecting her, but to what end? He was Bound to another, had no need of her next year, and now thought she was in some kind of relationship with Parse, thanks to the mis-directed owl post. And whatever was going on with Hypatia Alexander. Why bother to protect her like this, when he could simply lay the truth at her feet and be rid of her so easily?

"Dr. Hunter, are you able to recall the incident? How much venom did Ethinian Ames use?" Snape's tone was as kindly to her as it had been short with Winder.

Hunter settled herself, and brought her hands back down to her lap, where she clenched them, trying to control them. "It came directly from a stock vial. My lips went numb almost immediately. He poured in as much as he could before I lost consciousness and fell," she said, her voice shaking, remembering seeing Snape and Trelawney there, believing it was the end, wishing it WAS the end. "And yet, I lived."

"She lived, Minister, as you can clearly see. There is no known antidote for Scorpion Venom, as you well know, though Potions wasn't your best subject, as I recall. More of a Charms man, I think, when you weren't catching Bludgers with your head. Parse was one of the best Beaters Hufflepuff House ever had, really knew how to take one for the team," Snape said with malicious charm.

Winder looked over at him with an air of confusion. "Were we at school at the same time, Professor? I don't recall you. What House were you?"

"I was a year behind you, old man," Snape retorted. "Slytherin, of course."

"Of course, Hypatia's house," said Winder, clearly not recalling. "Back to the Scorpion Venom. No known antidote, she took a strong dose, and yet here she is."

"Which proves that the venom must have been at least 20 years old, possibly older. Slughorn hasn't worked here in nearly 16 years, so it could be much older. Who knows?" Snape said.

"Indeed, who knows?" Winder jotted down notes. "It is required that ingredients for magical potions be inventoried yearly if not more frequently and that they be kept in a secure location, with physical and magical protections. Was this not done in your labs, Professor Snape?"

Hunter thought about how many times every last vial or jar in Snape's lab had been catalogued and organized. At least weekly, by unhappy students serving detention with the difficult and exacting professor. She had no doubt that Severus would have checked their work down to the period, comma, and space, looking for the smallest justification to keep them there longer or for another session.

"I have my more talented students assist me in taking inventories of my stores nearly every month, as I find this a very useful exercise for the higher-performing Potions students who volunteer for additional study with me. Not only do they learn the full breadth of substances, but they learn to keep order using the Ministry-required forms. I have the last three years' worth of them here," he said, pointing the six-inch tall stack of parchments on his desk. "No Scorpion Venom nor unidentified substances to be found. If Slughorn left it behind, I'm sure he put it his locked and charmed cabinet. Being not as handy with breaking charms as some others, I had no idea how to release it. Given the age and questionable quality of its contents, no need to."

Hobble sat back silently, having nothing to offer. Hunter looked on, admiring how nearly all of what Severus was saying was true, except for the small fact that it was her Scorpion Venom. And that he'd known about it, asked her about it, and that's she'd lied. But if she confessed, she wasn't even sure what the consequences would be for her. Snape was on probation, so this was very serious for him. But for her, as a foreigner? Unknown. Sacking from her teaching position, at the very least. A fine, perhaps even imprisonment? Snape had fifty years' probation on what were characterized as "minor" charges. What would this land her?

"This is all very convenient, Headmaster, but where's the proof? The evidence? How can you prove it was Slughorn's?"

Hobble spoke. "He doesn't have to, Minister. This isn't a trial. As I understand it, you are here to see if the case should proceed further. I see no evidence of wrongdoing here and there are perfectly reasonable explanations for everything, most strongly the fact that Dr. Morgan Hunter is still alive. Whatever she may have been poisoned with, it certainly wasn't a fully effective Scorpion Venom. So, it was either some other substance not noted on this investigation, or it was VERY old and ineffective Scorpion Venom, from before the time that either of these good teachers were even here. Either way, it is clear that this investigation need not proceed further." Hobble sat back with a determined, confident look that aged his boyish face by at least a decade. He now looked to be nearly in his twenties.

Winder sat still for a few moments, considering his options. "Alright, agreed. The Scorpion Venom charges may not proceed. I'll need to do some more investigating of your records before I close that out, however. But I do have a few more questions for you, Headmaster. As I mentioned earlier, one of the conditions of your sentencing was that you surrender your fortune. In records preceding your trial, you were noted to have amassed a sizable amount of gold, a personal library of considerable size and value, several unique magical objects and instruments, and at least one property, at Spinner's End," he said, noting each on the large scroll as he read them.

"Yes," was Snape's only reply.

"And yet at your trial, all of these had vanished leaving you unable to even pay your own advocate for his able counsel. How do you explain this? No witnesses could describe your ever living lavishly or spending on others. In fact, many recalled your being the last person who'd buy a round at the pub."

"Given the few times I ever went out carousing with friends, I would say that is likely to be an accurate characterization of me, Minister," Snape said smugly.

"Where did it all go, Snape. Where are you hiding it?" Winder asked roughly.

"So, at last we arrive at the real reason you are here," Snape said languidly, easing back in his chair and fingering a quill distractedly. "The Scorpion Venom, the incident with Miss Ames, just a nice official cover story for you to continue to pry. I couldn't have imagined that the Ministry would take such interest in a misplaced Potion ingredient as to send its top talent and his most… able... deputy here to get to the bottom of it." Snape eyed Alexander with a gaze not unlike the one she'd given him earlier. This one, Winder noted with a set jaw. "I take it there is a finder's fee?" Snape's gaze returned to the Minister, eyebrows raised. "How large a piece of the action would come to you for shaking the tree, Parse?"

"That is no matter, Professor. I am here on behalf of the Ministry, many of whom feel cheated," he said defensively, his color rising in his neck.

"Because they hoped to enrich themselves before an official accounting was done, to extort it from me in exchange for a lighter sentence."

"That is a strong accusation, Snape, one that is not appropriate. I ask you again, where is it? If I need to, I can compel your advocate to testify," he said, drawing his wand and pointing it threateningly at Hobble. He drew up his Dragon Hide satchel across his chest, which made for rather substantial protection.

Hunter drew her own wand, ready to defend the shaking advocate should she need to. "Minister Winder, I don't know what your protocol is in Britain, but drawing your wand to conduct Ministry business is not called for," she said sharply. Why wasn't Snape reacting, she wondered, and what was going on between him and the Deputy Minister? "Put your wand away."

Winder turned sharply to look at her, a mix of anger and then embarrassment, and pocketed his wand slowly and reluctantly.

"Now that I can see how very serious you are, Mr. Winder, I admit defeat." Snape placed his hands open on his desk, while Winder's eyes grew wide with greed. "Mr. Hobble would be delighted to give you all of the details of my fortunes." Snape leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head. "Go ahead, Arboreus. Everything."

Hobble opened his case and tugged out a file stuffed with parchments. "Are you sure, Professor Snape? Everything?"

"Everything."

Winder appeared to be on the verge of salivating, being the first to know the truth about the Snape fortune. Alexander and Snape exchanged yet another round of desirous looks, no effort made to be subtle. Despite his attention to the advocate, Winder raised an eyebrow at Alexander, who glared at him until he turned away

Hobble began. "On June 12th of the preceding year, one Severus Snape donated the following to Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry:

540,692 Galleons; 203,394 sickles, and 46 knuts (held at Gringotts Bank)

His personal library consisting of 2584 volumes, located at both his home at Spinner's End and within his personal quarters at Hogwarts

13 magical devices, including a Sneak-o-Scope, a map, 3 wands, and 8 other assorted devices of lesser value

A property at 5 Spinner's End. The property and its furnishings were sold in August by the school, in the amount of 150,000 Galleons, which was then remitted to Hogwarts."

Winder's face evolved into a dawning dismay. "You gave it all to the school," said Winder, mouth agape with disbelief. "Your entire fortune." Hunter nearly laughed at the perfect look of smugness on Snape's face.

Hobble continued, drawing out another sheet of parchment. "According to the notes of the Hogwarts Board of Advisors, the cash was transferred and used to fund the repair of the damage to the school and grounds incurred in the war; the books were to be added to the school library, most to the Restricted Section; the magical devices are now part of the inventory within the Headmaster's office in perpetuity; and the property was sold with the proceeds being held in trust as a scholarship fund for the children of the less wealthy wizards and witches."

Snape, still lying back, looked at the portrait of Dumbledore, who may have winked, but certainly was smiling broadly.

So this one small thing was true, thought Hunter. He really was a poor schoolmaster, as he'd claimed. He really couldn't afford to be away from the school, both due to his probation and the cost of travel. Her mind whirred with activity. But he was Bound to Trelawney, clearly had something going on with Hypatia Alexander, and might also be involved in some way with Celeste Sinistra. These truths did not absolve him of these infidelities in her mind.

"His salary as agreed to by the Board, amounts to about 10,000 galleons per year, well below the threshold set by the ministry for confiscating anything above 20,000 galleons. The Board agreed to provide Headmaster Snape with room and board at no additional charge, as well as clothing appropriate to a person in his position."

"So you see, Mr. Winder, I don't even own the clothes on my back, nor the shoes on my feet. I agreed to keep only my wand and a small amount of pocket money, should I find myself in need of some small item the school doesn't already provide."

Hunter thought about the flowers in her room, the Potion. It was all he could give her, perhaps more than he could afford. And the reason why he wore the same suit of clothing, every day.

Winder leaned in again, pointing a finger to the desk. "That took place last summer. Those funds would have run out months ago. How do you explain all the new building and remodeling that has been going on lately, Headmaster? Where did those fund come from? You had the gall to send McGonagall to pester the Ministry for funds in the fall, once that money ran out, and yet it is clear that new projects are starting up. Where is the money coming from?" Winder barked, shaking a finger at Snape.

"Anonymous donor," Hobble said.

"Anonymous, bah!" spat Winder. "Who would that be, some of your old Death-eater friends, Snape? Don't forget, I can make Hobble testify if I need to."

Winder's gesture in his direction was enough to cause Hobble to shrink back, though Winder hadn't drawn his wand again. "I don't know. The donor was anonymous. We only got a notice from Gringotts, and you know as well as I do you can't impel goblins to speak if they've agreed to secrecy. It's the law and its their nature. I wouldn't want to try to force a goblin to break something said in confidence. I value my life."

"And you, Snape," Winder said menacingly. "The Ministry still possesses a fine stock of Veritaserum, proven effective for numerous defendants in their war crimes trials. It would be a lovely irony to compel the great Severus Snape to speak using one of his own potions."

Hunter had heard enough. She drew in her breath and stood in rage. "No, Parse, it was me. I am the anonymous donor."

Snape snapped back up from his reclining position and nearly fell from his chair. "You? Why?" he said, amazed at what he was hearing. This certainly added a new wrinkle.

Hunter turned to him and spoke bitterly. "Because my money made me a target. I wanted Ethinian to leave me alone. If I had nothing, then to him I would be nothing. That's why he was so furious. At first, he only wanted to be sure I didn't marry anyone and lock up my fortune, so he had Janiss throw herself at you to try to make me doubt you. To be sure he was successful, he threatened you and told lies about me in the papers, hoping you'd lose interest. I knew what he was after, so I got rid of the money myself, without needing any Binding to occur to lock it away from him. Once he found out the money was gone, he was in such a rage he tried to kill me with the venom. Having nothing, I cease to be a target. I am too poor now to be of interest to anyone."

Snape sat and stared at her unabashedly. He had played right into the hands of a second-rate wizard, possibly losing this witch forever. Harry's words echoed in his ears. His own worst enemy. He was penniless. So was she. She was the anonymous donor. She had more motivation than ever to seek someone with better prospects. And clearly she regarded him as a threat. It was all coming apart at the seams, even worse than before.

"Oh, my dear Professor Hunter." Winder stood now, pacing the room. "How you've been used. It really is a disgrace how you've treated her, Severus, an utter disgrace. Once the papers get a hold of this story, you'll be completely destroyed." Snape gripped the edge of his desk, and cast a dark look towards Alexander.

"And Hypatia, you, too, my dear. You'll be going down with him."

Every head in the room snapped to Parse Winder, who reached into his briefcase and brought forth a stack of crumpled and half-charred parchments.

"You didn't think I knew, did you, Hypatia? As though I don't read every correspondence that comes into or leaves my office." Her eyes, far from showing fear or dread, dilated with excitement. Hunter looked at Snape. His face was one of fear and embarrassment. Parse began to read, mockery and derision in every word.

"Hypatia, my love, will you accept my offer as a Potions Teacher here at Hogwarts? I will meet all your demands. I can convert Slughorn's old classroom on the fifth floor for you so you don't need to teach in the dungeons. You'll have your own apartments in the southeast corner, overlooking the Quidditch pitch. And as for your personal needs, I can assure you I'll make ample time to meet them."

"Stop, Parse, please." It was Hypatia, desperation in her voice.

"But there's more." He withdrew a second parchment. "Dearest Hypatia, It pains me more than you know when Morgan talks about her visit to the Ministry. How I ache to come with her, to be with you, if only for a few short hours. Continue to push Parse to court Morgan. It will only take mild encouragement for her to see how useful he could be to her career. And he'll need a new deputy soon, won't he?" Winder turned to Alexander. "Hypatia, how could you be so disloyal?" He drew closer to her, putting a hand to her cheek as she closed her eyes. "You don't even know what it means to be loyal to anyone but yourself, do you? To think, you placed your loyalty with Snape, of all people. Because he is just like you, just like a Slytherin. His words are worthless, Hypatia. They always have been. Lies for the Death Eaters, lies for Dumbledore, lies for the Wizengamot. Lies for Dr. Hunter and for you."

Yet another two-faced maneuver, Hunter thought disgustedly. While she had rattled on about her visit to the Ministry, he was just listening for news of Hypatia. And she had thought he just wanted to know how things went for her. All the while, he was courting Hypatia during the weekly visits from the Ministry.

He pulled another parchment from the stack, as Alexander looked on, her eyes bright, her breath ragged. "This one is my favorite, by far. Hypatia, my guide, (look at how manipulated you with every word) Your last letter has left me angry and confused. Why aren't things proceeding with Winder and Hunter? Don't tell me you still have feelings for him. He may have the strength you need in a partner, but he lacks the brain. I have both in good measure as you know and will use them both for your benefit and pleasure. Pledge to me, as I've asked you."

Alexander closed her eyes and hung her head. She spoke quietly, more quietly than Hunter imagined she was capable of. "Parse, how could you?"

Winder drew himself up to his full height, his chest expanding visibly with each breath. "How could I, Hypatia? How could I?!" he roared. "How could you?! With this man, this skinny, pale, dungeon-dweller? A poor schoolmaster who'd rather spend time in a stuffy, dusty library than outside flying in the sun, which is where you belong. He has nothing for you, Hypatia. Nothing. Nothing now and nothing for the next 50 years. You've known that all along. And yet you'd choose him over me."

Alexander looked deeply into his eyes. "You rejected me, Parse, remember?"

His eyes met hers. "I didn't reject you, I just needed time." She continued to search his face, her breathing still labored.

"Hypatia, no." Snape's voice was ragged. "Don't listen to him. He couldn't handle you, couldn't handle your strength. I can."

Winder rounded on Snape. "You sleazy little schemer. She nearly believed you. And the Great Morgan Hunter, as well. Two excellent, intelligent witches, caught in your web."

Snape looked away from Winder to Hypatia, his eyes wild. "Hypatia, I've offered you everything you asked for."

She looked at him longingly, then to Hunter. "What has he offered to you, Dr. Hunter?" Her voice cracked with pain.

Hunter's eyes were not clouded with tears of sadness, but of rage. "He's been beside my bed every day while I recovered, showering me with flowers and Potions, but has made no promises." Alexander smiled gleefully, her eyes on Snape. Hunter plunged ahead. "Before I was poisoned, I witnessed his Binding to Trelawney. He's married now."

Both Snape and Alexander choked at this revelation. "Morgan, no!" he cried out, rising from his seat. Alexander also stood, defiance covering her face. "Hypatia, no!" he howled. "This isn't true, I am not Bound. Arboreus, confirm that."

Hobble, who had been sitting in stunned silence, gave a curt nod.

Winder continued. "Professor Hunter, Snape has nothing to offer you in your time of need. He has deceived you at every turn. You have nothing. He already has your fortune without a marriage to you, and he has your heart, with nothing to give in return."

"He has no such thing," she said hotly, drawing herself up to her full height and turning away from him, her arms crossed.

"Hypatia," Snape repeated desperately, drawing his wand. "Winder, I challenge you to a duel. The victor will win Hypatia."

Winder did not hesitate. "I accept." He drew his wand also.

Alexander stood between the two men, her hands out to stop them. "No," she said.

"Hypatia, my love, what more must I do to show you my strength?" Snape's wand hand shook.

"Oh, you two can duel, all right. The prize is not winning me, but only the opportunity to pursue me unimpeded by the other. I'm not some object the two of you can barter."

Winder stood back. "Where shall we duel? The Quidditch pitch?"

"There's a dueling arena in the north wing," Snape noted.

"Afraid of being outside, I see," Winder chided.

"Not at all," Snape retorted. "Outside, then." He narrowed his eyes at Winder. "Dueling is considerably different from Quidditch. It takes brains, as well as brawn. You may come up short in that area."

Winder returned the frosty gaze. "It won't be long until everyone will know just who the better man is, Snape."

Snape said nothing, but pocketed his wand and led the way to the Quidditch pitch at full stride, his robes billowing behind him like sails.


	38. Chapter 38: Duel

**Please read this chapter with protective eyewear. It could get fierce.**

 **Enjoy. -DN**

Hunter found herself in a muddle. It had all happened so fast, this escalation from a mere inquiry about some errant Scorpion Venom to an all-out duel over a witch. So many secrets tumbling out at once. Snape seemed to be playing every possible angle, being at her bedside in case she lived, wooing Hypatia even after his marriage, and ignoring poor Sybil. Hobble denied it, but she'd seen it herself. Perhaps Hobble simply didn't know yet. Snape was to duel Parse Winder, steal Hypatia Alexander, and had offered her the Potions teaching job after Hunter left. It was a revolting game he was playing, moving everyone around like chess pieces. It remained to be seen if she herself would be able to get away, but one thing was clear: there was nothing here worth staying for. No job and no one she could trust. Even Parse, who'd been sending her letters all this time, had clearly cast her aside at the prospect of winning Hypatia. She had no interest in Winder whatsoever, but the further damage to her pride at being discarded in this way hurt her already bruised ego nonetheless.

She considered going to her rooms and packing her things to go immediately, as the entire scene left her confused and on unstable ground. The investigation seemed not to be proceeding, leaving her free to go, if she was, in fact, not a captive. In the end, curiosity got the best of her; she opted to follow the group outside. As they all strode through the hall, students began to empty from classrooms into the corridors and out onto the lawn.

Word had passed like only news of a dramatic fight can within a school full of young people itching to be outside on one of the first warm spring days. And the fight was between the Headmaster and the Minister of Magical Education! For a witch! The staff had no choice but to allow them to go, as even charms on the doors were undone by older students on the other sides of the doors as they passed. Madame Pomfrey came running with her medical kit in hand, as well as all the other staff.

The Headmaster strode across the pitch to the far side and assumed a ready position, noting the throngs of students filling the stands as quickly as they could. No doubt they would enjoy the drama yet to come.

Parse Winder assuming the end of the pitch nearer to the school, while Alexander, Hobble, and Hunter took seats on the players benches. Alexander looked thrilled, while Hobble and Hunter exchanged gazes of worry and anxiety. Hunter wasn't at all comforted by Hobble noting how wise it was that Snape's will was up to date.

Harry said anxiously "Are these usually to the death?"

Luna Lovegood answered first. "Not usually, only to defeat and humiliation. But accidents can happen, both to combatants and observers." She put on protective goggles. "I think the death rate for combatants is only 20%, and about 5% for observers. But with this large an audience, I think the odds are considerably more on our side."

Harry was less worried about their odds than Snape's. He wasn't quite sure what the duel was about, but the rumor was that he was dueling the Minister of Magical Education in competition for the Deputy Minister. That seemed more than alarming to him. Why would they need to settle differences like this? Why would they be fighting over her? Snape was in love with Dr. Hunter, wasn't he?

Hermione was even more alarmed than Harry. "Dr. Hunter was still unconscious yesterday evening when my shift ended. How is she here now? And Snape's not back to full-blooded yet. Madam Pomfrey was reminding him to come see her again." She looked terrified, and her worry set Harry's mood even further on edge.

The two wizards met in the center of the field, with Arboreus Hobble between them, reading the rules, as well as the agreement for the result of the duel. Madam Hooch was to referee. With one final "Please try not to kill each other in front of the students," he scurried off to the side and slunk down behind the barrier in front of the players bench, as though it would offer any protection in the event of an errant curse.

Snape and Winder removed their robes, revealing more clearly the contrast between the two. Snape was thin and wiry, his worn out frock coat and pants more suitable for a classroom or office than the Quidditch pitch. He pulled his hair back with a leather tie. Under his pin-striped robe, Winder had either the foresight or habit to wear an athletic shirt and tights, which showed his muscular physique to great advantage. Many of the ladies in the stands hooted their approval. Ginny and Hermione managed to suppress theirs in deference to their Headmaster, but Luna temporarily removed her goggles to get a better view.

About 50 yards apart, the two wizards regarded each other cautiously, pacing back and forth, sizing each other up. The crowd now fell silent.

At last, Snape raised his wand, but Winder was faster, casting a defensive spell as the Expelliarmus was deflected. Snape tried again, launching a Binding Hex, which Winder easily ducked to avoid.

Harry was irritated with Snape. He should be dueling, not Snape. You never cast the first spell in a duel, even the 2nd years knew that. But there was nothing he could do. If he intruded on the fight, it would be assumed that he did so to benefit Snape and Winder would win by default. Harry kept his seat.

Winder then cast a Affligo charm, which Snape deflected, followed by another and then another. Snape deflected each, but was having difficulty recovering. At last one hit him in the shoulder, knocking him backwards slightly. Snape regarded the other man with more respect, and launched his own Combustio charm. Winder dodged as the charm set fire to a patch of ground not far from him. He quickly cast an Aguamenti spell to put it out, then turned and put up a defensive spell before Snape's Stupefy hit him. The defensive spell protected him, but the force of it was such that he stumbled backward, landing precisely where the fire had been only moments before.

Both wizards took a moment to regain their stability and circle the other. Wands moved carefully, waiting for the next strike. Winder struck next, sending a leg-lock curse at Snape, who dived out of the way, returning a Obscuro charm at Winder. By the time he'd regained his footing, Winder had pulled off the blindfold and was ready for him again.

Now the duel became more intense, both men sweating and pacing. Hunter was nearly coming apart watching two grown men fight like animals. She winced when Snape was off center, then recalled his deceit and wondered whose side she was on. Regardless of who was right and who was wrong, she disliked this kind of physical violence. She mentally ran down the inventory of healing potions she had in her stores, should they be needed. She cast a glance to Poppy, who had her bag opened, ready to go it, should her skills be needed. And then a glance at Alexander. She was enthralled by the action, on the edge of her seat with every spell cast, a joyous smile paired with delighted eyes transforming her face into one of near beauty.

Now the spells and curses came more quickly. The noise became too great to make sense of each individually, but ropes flew, flames shot out, and even a few arrows. The students in the crowd grew decidedly less enthusiastic about watching such a pitched battle, given the violent turn things had taken. It was clear this was personal and not just recreation, like dueling club. Someone was going to be seriously hurt in the end, but just who wasn't clear.

Winder was on fire now, launching curses, hexes, and jinxes in rapid succession, giving Snape no chance to recover, only to deflect and defend. Several missed Snape and set a portion of the stands filled with students on fire. Without hesitation, Snape turned his back on Winder to launch a perfectly pitched Aguamenti, extinguishing the fire. He spun back around, but not quickly enough.

Harry watched in horror, now. Severus Snape might finally reach his end, taking with him not only his memories, but now a physical piece of Harry and his parents. This had to end before a real death. Harry leaped from his chair, Hermione and Ron pulling him back down. "Severus, no!" he called out shaking off his friends, climbing over others to get to the aisle, running down the stairs.

But he was too late.

Winder took full advantage of Snape's turned back and cast a wobbly Stupefy. Snape's need to draw a breath caused his Salvio Hexia to come too late. Snape crashed to the ground as Winder regained his footing with a call of Expelliarmus. Snape's wand was in his hand a moment later. The thin pale man lay on the ground, his breathing labored. He turned his head to Alexander, who was sprinting towards Winder.

"Hypatia, my love, no!" he called out, attempting to rise without success.

But Hypatia Alexander had reached Winder, who embraced her as he gestured in victory to the crowd, dropping Snape's wand on the ground at his feet.

Putting his own wand to his throat, and uttering "sonorus," Parse Winder boomed out "Hypatia Alexander, will you pledge yourself to me forever, in front of these witnesses, as I will do for you?"

Alexander was captivated, hanging on Winder's shoulder. She touched her wand to her own throat and uttered "sonorus," and replied "I pledge myself forever in return to you, Paracelsus Winder." Far from a roaring approval, the students returned only dull disappointment. Alexander and Winder seemed to take no notice, theirs eyes locked on one another. Poppy took the field as the students and other spectators poured from the stands and trudged up the hill to the castle, shooed by teachers to get back to classes. Harry ran to retrieve Snape's wand, then turned towards the Headmaster. Poppy and Harry reached Snape at the same time.

"Poppy," said Snape quietly. "Put on a good show, but there is nothing that I need."

Harry knelt down beside Poppy and handed Snape his wand. "Ignore him, do all you can, please!"

Madame Pomfrey waved her wand over his body as he lay still, his head rolled to one side. She felt his pulse and examined his eyes. She waved her wand again. Why wasn't she saying anything, wondered Harry.

She withdrew a vial from her bag and gestured for Harry to help her sit Snape up more. He felt like bag of rocks. It didn't look like he'd been hit this badly from the stands. She emptied the vial into his mouth, some of the formula running down his chin. She tossed the vial aside, waving her wand and saying "Hemoscendo." Snape moaned and called Madame Pomfrey an inappropriate name. Harry looked over to the discarded vial. Blood-builder, of all things? He wasn't bleeding from anywhere. Snape writhed in pain, then stopped. He took two more breaths, then sat up uncomfortably, resting his arms on his knees.

"You are an evil witch, Poppy," he said.

"Only the best care for you, Severus." She grinned and put her things away. A cheer went up from what remained of the departing the crowd, as Snape staggered back to his feet, Arboreus Hobble and Harry helping him across the lawn. Snape pocketed his wand, his eyes scanning the field.

"Where has she gone, Arboreus?" he asked.

"No idea, Severus."

"Harry, go and get your map. Now." Snape's command was urgent.

"She just left with the Minister, they were heading towards your office. You lost the duel, Severus. She just pledged to Winder. You're not allowed to pursue her. There's nothing you can do."

"I don't care about Hypatia Alexander, you idiot. We need to find Dr. Hunter and fast. Now GO GET YOUR MAP. Locate Dr. Hunter and then come find me."

Now that most students had exited the stadium, Snape snapped back up and returned to the castle at a full run, down to the dungeons searching for Morgan.

Harry was confused. What had Snape just dueled for, if not Hypatia Alexander? And how did he recover so fast? Blood-builder didn't work that fast. He grabbed the first broom he saw and flew back to Gryffindor Tower, entering by a window open to the spring breezes. He bounded up the stairs to the boys' dormitory, dug through his trunk and grabbed the Marauder's Map. He turned and ran as fast as his legs would carry him, back down to Snape's office.

By the time he reached the Headmaster, he had an answer. "She's in the southwest tower, in Slughorn's old classroom," he said, pointing. Snape grabbed the map and took off.


	39. Chapter 39: Dual

Morgan Hunter was too angry, too frustrated to even keep her eyes open. She could have been teaching here, in this lovely classroom, the mid-day rays illuminating the stained glass of windows illustrating key potions ingredients and equipment. Cauldrons, burners, stirring wands, jars, leaves, entrails, mucus. She could almost smell the brewing. The shelves were stocked with books and hardware, the benches and chairs ready for students to occupy them, the lectern ready for an instructor, chalkboards clean and ready.

She waved her wand and muttered "Fenestrata." The windows slid smoothly open. The mid-day breeze began to fill the room, bringing with it more light. He had forced her to spend the year in the dungeons, cold, damp and dark, when this had been an alternative. Trapped from the sun, away from its warmth. Hypatia Alexander could have it. She pocketed her wand within the Solarium garment.

She'd remained at the Quidditch pitch only until she was sure Snape was not killed, then departed. Why she felt compelled to stop here before simply leaving, she didn't know. Perhaps another instance of her habit of wallowing in self-pity. Useless. Time to go. Her things would be simple to pack with a few waves of her wand. _Just go now. Leave your things for the house elves to pack and send. Everyone is distracted by the duel. This is your best chance to escape._ She'd wasted time coming here; there was no time to lose.

* * *

Severus Snape bounded up the stairs as though his life depended on it, as perhaps it did, his mind racing. His lungs tore at the air, his bones ached from the Blood-Builder. _Corroded cauldrons, why couldn't Pomfrey have used Girding Potion or something else more useful, more rapid in its effect?_

Everything had happened so fast, there had been no time for him to even retrieve the Felix Felicis he had been hoarding, just waiting for the right moment. Blasting Bludgers, every part of his plan was being destroyed. He was now in fully unplanned territory, making it up as he went.

How could he win her now? She apparently believed she was a captive (his choice to launch a Binding Hex on her now seemed a uniquely poor choice in hindsight), thought he was married to Trelawney, had publicly confirmed and quantified for her just how painfully poor he was and for how long his probation would last, and now thought he was in love with Hypatia Alexander. He'd given her all the gifts he could, the flowers and the potion, but he hadn't been able to show them to her before she'd jumped up. He'd shown his devotion at her bedside, but she'd been comatose. He would have to explain about Hypatia and the duel, but that would be simple, if he were ever able to explain it to her. He would make the job offer he'd been meaning to extend ever since he'd been informed of the donation. He could now offer her a permanent job because of her own generosity. The balance was not at all in his favor, mostly by his own doing. Nevertheless, he would persist.

He burst in, the door crashing to the wall. She was there. He wasn't too late.

"Morgan," he cried out breathlessly. "Let me explain, please!" He stood, clutching his chest, panting and sweating from his exertion, as she stood near the windows, her look of surprise followed all too quickly by a glare.

 _She already thinks of you as a threat, as someone who would keep her here against her will. Show her she can trust you. Disarm._

* * *

She'd waited too long. _Croaking cactuses, how did he get here so fast after Winder nearly knocked him unconscious ? You've been a fool to wait so long, to underestimate him. He may be stronger than you think. He must be very motivated to stop you from leaving._

He was reaching for his wand. Never again.

"Expelliarmus!" she shouted, drawing her wand and launching the spell across the classroom.

* * *

He nearly lost his wand, had barely enough time to block the spell and deflect it into a nearby chair which sailed into the wall.

"I advised you to never raise your wand against me again, Snape." Her words chilled him to the bone, despite the warm breeze from the open windows combining with his own heat from the duel and his rush to find her. She cast a Binding Spell at him, ropes springing from her wand in a terrifying echo of his own previous spellwork. He quickly deflected them into a heap on the floor, as she launched a second spell.

"If you think for a moment you can stop me from leaving, you're a fool, Severus Snape. You have no right to keep me here." Her JellyLeg Jinx knocked him off balance as he fought to block it. He was positioned between her and the door, not a benign place to be. His only options were to walk forward (too aggressive) or backward toward the door, the left and right being blocked by desks and his having no time to move them aside as he fought to defend himself from her onslaught. He wished that the BloodBuilder spell Poppy had inflicted on him just now worked faster, or that he had requested the more rapid course. Despite his intentional loss to Parse Winder, he was still depleted and weaker than he should be. Morgan Hunter was proving to be a skilled duelist. Her feet were firmly planted, her wand moving through the air with speed and precision, her incantations uttered flawlessly.

He had never admired her more than in this instant, her hair flying, her spells and hexes skillfully launched and well-chosen. He drew forth every defensive dueling skill he had to avoid being smashed against the wall as a desk had following his deflection of her Ascendio spell. She was as equally talented in battle as she was in the Potions lab. His heart ached at the beauty of her wandwork, as his body ached from the effort of being the target of her wandwork. The scent of the spring meadow, her own lavender and rosemary, the new classroom, and the slightly toasted scent of incendiary spells made for a heady mix. The way the sun shone through the windows behind her, the dust from the destruction catching the rays. How lovely this would be to observe, if only she weren't trying to injure him.

He called out. "Morgan, please. I don't want to hurt you!"

Hunter did not relax her posture in the slightest. "I'll make sure I'm not hurt. Look out for yourself." She launched a Knockback Jinx, forcing him to quickly launch his own counter-jinx.

* * *

She was growing tired with her effort and he hadn't even launched an offensive spell at her. Despite her previously feeling in excellent form, it was clear to her now that she had not yet gained all of her strength back yet. He still had most of his strength, but she was beginning to lose hers. And he still hadn't moved from blocking the door. If there had been a broom about, the windows provided an easy escape, but none was here. She continued, now using jinxes to preserve herself until she was able to work back up to hexes.

 _He's not really all that much of a duelist, despite the stories of his taking on Minerva McGonagall and others. Not a single spell launched at you. Who knows what else about him was a lie? I never know what to believe, not even with my own eyes. You can't trust your own feelings with this one. There's too much confusion and too much unsettling about this man and what had gone on in the years before you arrived, never mind all you've seen for yourself._

* * *

 **Her intensity continued, and he began to face the reality that his defensive spells, deflections, and counter-jinxes would soon be insufficient. The effort that even the defensive spells required to handle her onslaught were exhausting. He needed to slow her down. That might require him to attack.**

Her Knockback Jinx spell sailed over his shoulder, into a shelf of books, which then cascaded noisily to the floor.

How had it come to this? Only last evening, he'd been holding her hand quietly in the darkness, silently hoping for her recovery, envisioning himself kneeling at her feet, offering his apologies, presenting his gifts (modest though they were), offering her a permanent position with a more befitting title and increased pay, support for her research and travel, promising her this classroom and a different apartment. One with windows and the sunshine that she craved. Anything, anything at all that she needed or wanted, no matter if she were fully recovered or permanently disabled. His plan had only required her to remain in the infirmary until he cleaned up the mess with Hypatia and Parse. He believed he had the time, as he expected her to remain with Poppy for at least a few days, no matter when she woke up. Now, in a matter of only a few hours, he was here, fighting a pitched battle against the witch he loved, after she'd had to witness his theater of the absurd with the Minister of Magical Education and his deputy. Every plan he'd ever made to win her had invariably gone wrong in the most spectacular fashion. It seemed he lacked in luck as much as he lacked in skill in matters of the heart. He was perhaps further now from her love than he had ever been, despite his efforts.

His mind reeled, trying to devise a way that would allow him time to talk to her, to make his case. As much as he needed to send an offensive spell her way to stop her constant barrage of aggression, even more so, he simply could not. Nothing would destroy her trust faster than actions that might seem to confirm her suspicions of him. Moreover, he simply had no wish to hurt her. Ever. Even now. He'd managed to never fire a spell against Minerva in their duel, using only deflection and blocking; he must find a way today. Despite her skill and despite his growing exhaustion. Escape wouldn't solve his problem now. He needed to remain, needed her to remain.

He needed time to talk to her, to explain the events of the day, to tell he how he felt, to ask her to stay, all the other things her wanted to ask her, to make his offers. She believed he was stopping her from leaving; he was between her and the door. He couldn't stop her from leaving, and yet she couldn't go. How would he explain if she left? How would he gain her trust if he forced her to remain? There was no solution to the puzzle.

The scent preceded the voice. The scent of destruction, rot and decay, and not the good kind, not the natural and transformative kind. Spoilage, like the reptile processing area after a few weeks of neglect. The voice contrasted with the smell only in tone. Silky and seductive, but with words of filth that always left him drained.

"Why _would_ she choose you over Parse Winder? Handsome, athletic, strong, outgoing, just as she is. Well-placed, influential, and becoming more so, taking advantage of the opportunities opened up after the war. He has money. Most of all, freedom. You have none of these things. Skinny, ugly, poor, imprisoned. Solitary, abrasive."

Times like this, when he was fighting at the edge of his abilities, invariably summoned this creature to his side. He had to fight the daemon, even as he was fighting off Hunter's attacks. "Leave me, you foul spawn of death. I had enough of your words years ago."

"Severus, you and I have been such close friends for so long. Your efforts to abandon me have always failed, and they always will."

He deflected Hunter's Glacius Duo into a cabinet to his right, but it was close enough for him to feel the chill of the ice.

"She wants to go back to Sedona. You do understand what that means, don't you, Severus?"

He did, indeed. It meant his being alone, possibly forever, a condition he'd pictured any number of times since their split. Even if someone else came along, it simply wasn't possible that he would not compare them to her, just as he still thought of Lily every day. His loneliness would be doubled, if not tripled.

"It means she'd choose no one rather than be with you. You are not even better than no one, no better than loneliness itself."

He felt the daemon's grip slide around his neck, felt its fingers slide within his guts and twist them, making his Shield Charms more difficult to conjure.

"Let her go, Severus. You have no choice; she will go whether you wish to allow it or not. Watch her walk away. Then give yourself to me. Once I consume your soul, you'll live forever. I don't mind the damaged souls, the bruised ones like yours. Those are the ones that taste the best, the ones that fill me most. Aged, seasoned. Ready. Just like your Potions, the ones that are most difficult are the best in the end."

"Never." Snape attempted to shore himself up, to fend off Hunter's spells.

"You've been so close, so many times. Why do you tease me so, Severus? All your life, so close. So many times, I could nearly taste you. When you were 9 and your father beat your mother and there was nothing you could do but listen from the opposite side of the wall, your child's curses still too weak. Did you want to actually help her, or just hurt him? When Potter and Black tortured you, their idiotic pranks besting your skills. When Lily left you after your cruelty to her, only to choose Potter, the worst of the bunch. So many times, Severus, so close. Remember when she died? Dumbledore pulled you back from me. But there were so many other times, so many other deaths."

"Enough deaths, surely, to satisfy you. Leave me."

"How many were enough deaths for you, Severus? Your Potions, strengthening and healing the Death Eaters; poisons sold to any number of wizards with homicidal intent; ineffective antidotes reserved for your enemies. How many?" Its fingers released his guts and moved upward to his heart. "Very strong, despite it all. But once Morgan Hunter is gone, you'll be mine. I won't be merciful then. I'll simply reside within you, day and night. The poison is still in your cabinet. Can you hear it calling, as I can, waiting for me? The lake will be warm in summer and no one will even notice you are gone until September." The daemon's embrace grew stronger, its breath even closer, more foul than before. "Can you imagine the celebration? No more Bat from the Dungeons. No more detentions. No more endless lectures. Hogwarts will be a whole new school. Lots of money in the bank, and no Headmaster Snape to ruin things for everyone."

He was tiring now, the Blood Builder taking far longer than he needed it. Both in body and in soul, he fought on, silently begging for Hunter to have mercy. She showed no evidence of this, sending an expertly-cast Stupefy his way. He allowed it to come much too close. It struck the daemon full-on, but its grip on him was so strong, Snape himself was thrown against the wall with it, smashing the chalkboard behind him. Now having taken a direct hit, the daemon released him and crawled away, hissing its anger. He could still feel the impression of its grip on his heart. It would return in time.

As Harry ran up the stairs, he pondered his godfather. Just when he thought Severus Snape had shown some openness, some honesty, some small insight into his inner workings, everything fell apart. He thought he understood about Morgan Hunter, about Snape's love and admiration for her. He thought he had an inkling, some small moment of a true secret shared. Snape had opened up to him, shown something of himself, or so he was led to believe. This wizard who could duel McGonagall, who could survive Voldemort, who could fly without a broom, had been cast on his backside by Parse Winder, who may have been only one step above Gilderoy Lockhart in his dueling skills. He agreed with Dean Thomas, who had been embarrassed to watch the event.

Why would Snape have led him to believe he was in love with Morgan Hunter when he was in fact angling for the love of Hypatia Alexander? If Professor Hunter seemed so unlike him, at least she was both smart and skilled with Potions. For Alexander, he could find no common ground with the Headmaster. He didn't know much about her, but she seemed to have the build of a Beater, not the mind of a Chaser. He considered how little he really knew about Severus Snape, despite his memories. Those were in the past, and many things had happened since his student days. Perhaps he was a wholly different man now. Harry certainly didn't know what to think now.

Reaching his destination at last, his legs aching the whole way down this rarely-used corridor, he tore open the classroom door.

He hit the floor and rolled across the corridor as a LegLock Hex sailed out, crashing into the far wall, leaving a pock mark in the stone opposite the door.

He waited a few moments. Hearing no further spell-casting, he drew his own wand and cautiously peeked a single eye around the door jamb.

It took more than a few moments of silence for his mind to process the scene.

Snape, just inside the door, was splayed against the wall, his wand held in front of him in a defensive posture. It was easy to see why, as Dr. Hunter stood on opposite side of Slughorn's old classroom, her wand drawn and pointing threateningly at Snape, her face transformed with a look of cold determination. The objects in the room bore witness to the vociferousness of their battle. Desks were rent in two, chairs overturned, chalkboards cracked, and dust still in the air. Snape had the same look on his face as he'd had in the Battle in the Great Hall with Professor McGonagall, as though he were just about to fly from the room.

In deference to him, neither moved nor cast additional spells. Neither did they lower their wands, however.

"Professor Snape," Harry said, once he was finally able to speak. "It's Janiss. She was found unconscious in her room, with an unlabeled vial nearby. Madame Pomfrey thinks she might have been exposed to scorpion venom. She needs your antidote."

For one of the first times he could recall, Severus Snape was deeply grateful for an interruption from Harry Potter. If not for him, then at least for the safety of a student, Morgan Hunter had stopped firing spells at him, at least for the moment. Harry had given him the opening he'd been unable to muster without casting hexes at Morgan. Keeping his eyes on Morgan Hunter and her wand as he spoke, Snape fought to keep his voice steady despite his breathlessness. "Dr. Hunter, I am going to disarm. I will place my wand on a desk and walk away from it. I will then get some vials from my pockets. I ask you not to hex me or Mr. Potter." He didn't lower his wand instantly, but waited. Slowly, Morgan Hunter lowered her wand as Snape did likewise in near-perfect synchronicity. He rose uncomfortably and slowly moved to a desk by the wall and laid his wand there, keeping his eyes on her at all times.

Harry looked on in slack-jawed amazement. Snape hadn't pocketed his wand. He was now completely disarmed and immensely vulnerable. Anyone could easily cast a minor spell, and Snape would have few options to defend himself.

Snape walked back to Harry, keeping his eyes on Dr. Hunter, who had lowered her wand, but not pocketed it. Harry had little time to really look at her, but noticed she was breathing hard and her hair was wild. Hadn't she been in the hospital only yesterday?

Snape withdrew two vials from a pocket deep in his jacket. He handed them to Harry with great care. "Put these in your pocket, Harry, a very secure one. I have only two more left after these. Have Madame Pomfrey give her one as soon as possible, then a second as soon as she can swallow it. Go quickly, Harry, but not so fast you break the vials. They cannot easily be replaced."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, slipping them into the most secure pocket he had.

"Also, find someone to secure the vial that was near Miss Ames, someone responsible and talented. They will need use dragonhide gloves. Have them save the vial and any other residue for my inspection."

"Yes, sir." Harry looked back at the room questioningly.

"Go, Harry," Snape said, more tiredly than testily. Harry turned to go.

"Did you see her, Harry? How does she seem?" Dr. Hunter had spoken at last. The aggression she'd shown only moment before was now transformed into worry. Harry turned back in surprise.

"She was still breathing when I saw her, but Madame Pomfrey was very agitated. Sorry, I need to go." He hated to just leave her there, concerned, but time was of the essence. He was sure she would understand his haste. He set his feet towards the Hospital Wing.

* * *

As she watched the young wizard's robes vanish out the door and heard his footsteps descending the stairs, Morgan Hunter felt much of the fight leave her. Janiss may have been exposed to Scorpion Venom, no doubt taken from Ethinian without the proper seals. She was a smart girl, she would have known the risks. She may have had an accident, but maybe it was purposeful. Her father was dead, and now the same fate might await Janiss, too. She raised her gaze to Severus, who stood by the door. Her breathing had slowed to a normal rate now, but her heart still beat strongly.

"I will step away from the door, Morgan, with your permission." She eyed him suspiciously. "Away from my wand," he confirmed. She gave a small nod and he stepped away further from his wand.

How had it come to this? Not so long since she'd been bemoaning foolish wizards to duel over a witch, here she was, having duelled a former lover. He had disarmed and was no longer blocking the door. She was free to go. It was long past time. The next train from Hogsmeade would leave in the afternoon, around 5:30pm, getting into London around 10:30pm. She could then get the next Portkey to Stonehenge, probably in the morning. Then the Portal, then Sedona by the afternoon. The very thought of the desert sun in the afternoon warmed her from the inside.

She'd arrived only months ago, pleased to be away from Sedona, pleased to have a new goal, a new plan. She would focus on her career, build an international reputation, perform fantastic research, and eventually, with time, heal from her losses.

None of that had happened. She'd begun so well, only to allow herself to be distracted, damaged further by what had seemed like love, love with a wizard who'd seemed to be her equal, seemed to have a strong heart. Their few weeks of being together (had it really only been a matter of weeks?) had been wonderful, then fallen apart so stunningly. Then gone from bad to worse as darkness set upon her again. Every effort she'd made to reconnect somehow had only resulted in greater heartbreak, greater disappointment that he was not at all who she believed him to be. The only greater disappointment was with herself, for having been blinded.

As usual, his presence began to erode her resolve. She'd been utterly determined to leave, but now, she lamented her losses. If only he had been the lover she'd believed him to be, rather than another lying, deceptive snake. He was brilliant, handsome, ambitious, vexing, and unpredictable, but also deceitful, untrusting, and confusing. She had to remind herself that she had thought through her decision many times before. _No matter your wishes, he is both married AND not an honorable man, having been dueling for the affections of another witch. Go, now. Don't agonize a moment longer._

She headed for the door.

"Morgan, please don't go. Allow me to explain. I beg you," he said, but softly. He didn't move.

She regarded him with what she hoped looked like disgust, to mask her disappointment. "I have already wasted too much of my time here. Every lying, cheating wizard always has some _explanation_ for his actions. I have no interest in the hearing more of your lies, Snape. If you feel compelled to tell me anything further, you may write me. I'll be at the Three Broomsticks tonight, then back in Sedona by tomorrow evening. I'll send a forwarding address."

She was leaving, her steps aimed at the door. His wand was across the room. It would be a simple task to retrieve it. He could chase her down the halls, lock the gates, confirm every imaginable suspicion she had of him. She couldn't go, and he could not stop her from going.


	40. Chapter 40: Antidote

**Good evening, patient readers. It's been a long summer and fall and I am pleased to get back to doing some publishing. I've been writing (and THINKING), but not getting these out. As always, please DO review. Anonymous is fine, PM is fine. Let me know what you like or dislike. I am hoping a few of the questions I've gotten from the earlier chapters are being answered... And apologies to LadyMalfoy. You get no relief... Cheers! DN**

She was in the corridor, she'd escaped. She turned towards the stairs, the way out, freedom. His voice, low but strong, struck her back.

"I will reveal the formula and technique for the Scorpion Venom antidote, if you allow me some time to speak first."

Withering wands, he was a devious one. She paused. She really should go. But an antidote, perhaps the very one that saved her, might now be saving Janiss. He claimed he would share. No Potioneer would dare share such a valuable formula. She imagined the fortune he could make, selling it in secret to those who wanted to use the venom as a weapon, but feared accidental exposure, to those who feared poisoning themselves. Hospitals the world over would want to have some on their shelves, if it was stable. Otherwise, they'd want the Potioneer on their Emergency Consultant lists, and pay good money to secure his services. No, there was no way he would simply share the formula for something so precious. He would surely hoard it for the next 49 years, then make the fortune once he could keep the money for himself. Why give such a fortune to the Ministry he loathed so much, whose officers appeared to feel the same about him?

Lies, it was all lies. He had lied about nearly everything she could think of. From his marriage all the way to student "volunteers." He worked in deception the way other artists might work in oil or clay. She would have to be a fool to waste her time listening to more of his distortions and dishonesty, to allow for the possibility that her determination might waiver, that she might find herself weakened by his presence, as had happened so many times before.

What if he did have such a formula? He must, right? Something had saved her, after something very powerful had rendered her unconscious for more than a week. She fully believed she had been poisoned by a large quantity of Scorpion Venom, and she lived. Madam Pomfrey seemed to believe in the antidote, if Harry's performance hadn't been staged in some way. The boy, at least, seemed genuine and trustworthy. He was Snape's godson; perhaps they shared a talent and taste for deceit.

What if he had an antidote and really was willing to share it? What if she walked away from her opportunity?

That was a lot of "what ifs." What if it was all a lie, a trap? Why would he allow her to get to the hall then? She would certainly remain on her guard, the energy from their duel still flowing in her veins.

She turned, hand ready to draw her wand in an instant. He had remained where he had been when she walked out, having not moved an inch. His hands remained at his sides, his body neutral. His face was less agonized than a moment before, but still tense. She eyed him thoroughly, cautiously.

"You will do so from the far side of the room, without your wand. The door will remain open. I will leave at any point I should so choose."

"Yes, agreed," he replied, with no hesitation.

She took two more breaths, waiting for him to move. He did so, not turning his back on her, but moving farther from the door toward the windows, as well as farther from his own wand. She contemplated picking it up, but decided that might be too aggressive a move. She kept its exact position in her mind, should she need it. Even another's wand with its feeble action would be superior to facing that wand in the hand of its master.

The sun shone from behind him, surrounding him in a warm golden glow. So different from the torchlight or winter sun that she was accustomed to in the dungeon classroom and labs or the Great Hall. She fought the distraction.

Places now taken, though positions reversed, she commanded him "Speak."

He'd kept her from leaving, at least for a time, a victory in itself, in a day filled with disasters. Now, the next step, more perilous than the previous. He struggled to remember just what he needed to say, blood still rushing in his ears from their duel, abandoned only minutes ago.

"Morgan, Dr. Hunter, I mean, you are no captive here, nor were you ever. You are free to go as you wish at any time." The words were all he could speak without stopping for breath. He took more time than he needed, making sure he covered all of what he needed to. "I would like very much for you to stay. I can offer you a permanent position, as Head of the Potions department. I'll finish the repairs to this classroom, support your research, accommodate your speaking and travel schedule, hire a House-elf assistant, a lab assistant, whatever you request." He eyed her directly, pleading in his heart and in his eyes.

She looked at him in disbelief, her mouth dropping open. "A career discussion? That's what you wanted me to remain for?" She snorted. "I'll have no difficulty in landing a job, Headmaster. It's really just a matter of my deciding what I want. Borealis, Beauxbatons, anywhere. Your offer is an insult. I have no intention of being your back-up plan, now that Deputy Alexander has run off." Her words sounded far more confident than she felt, her having taken no steps yet to secure her next position. She relied on his not knowing that.

He groaned. "The offer to Alexander was a ruse."

She glared further, but said nothing. Her jaw moved slightly as she gritted her teeth. _More lies will be coming your way shortly. Let him hang himself on his ridiculous stories._

He needed to say more, to tell her the whole story. How to begin?

"The notes that Parse read were intended for him to see, to drive his jealousy. He needed to believe that he was going to lose her, which was bad enough in itself. To lose her to me, of all wizards, was intolerable to him, as we both knew it would be. We wrote several letters to one another, behaved in an overtly admiring manner, all to encourage his anger and possessiveness."

"Why would you care to do that?" She remained still, utterly unmoved.

 _Why must she always challenge me so? Every plan you make she defies, every explanation you give, she sees through in a moment. Her insights to your moods, always more accurate than you let on, seemed tender before, but intrusive now. Best give her more explanation. She is still so close to the door, so close to leaving forever. Use the gift of her time wisely._

"Hypatia is very ambitious, like most Slytherins are. She sees in him an opportunity to increase her standing and influence in the Ministry and the Magical world. It has also not escaped her notice that he is quite physically attractive. She presented this plan, which seemed to fulfill both one of her goals, as well as several of mine."

She allowed a pause, expecting to hear more. "That explains her motivations, but doesn't explain yours. Why would you want to play such a game? Was your goal simply your own smug entertainment?"

"I owed her a favor. This was our agreed resolution of that debt."

She was getting impatient now. "Professor Snape, I have remained here with the understanding that you had something to say to me before demonstrating the Scorpion Venom formula. I have no desire to play '20 questions,' or any other manipulative game, with you. You may either say what you think I need to know plainly, or I'll be on my way, formula or not."

He was on track to losing her yet again. _Tell her everything, as you pledged. The only thing you have to lose is everything._

"Earlier in the year, I had made Hypatia a job offer." At this, Hunter's face hardened. "She was to be your junior colleague," he added quickly. "I had planned to offer you the Head of the Potions Department then." This was getting into difficult territory. "Circumstances intervened, and I was forced to withdraw the offer to her and to then re-examine the structure of the Potions Department. Hypatia was exceedingly displeased, but saw that my withdrawal of the offer put me in a position of indebtedness to her. She is not one to squander an opportunity, nor is she kind or merciful when she is angry, as I am sure you can picture. I saw a way to both provide for her a new opportunity, as well as to solve a problem of my own."

 _You must keep going, whether you are inclined to do so or not. She is giving YOU a gift in not simply leaving. Tell her, as much as you can stand._

He began again. "Parse Winder is a lucky man to be where he is, as Hufflepuffs rarely possess the ambition and cunning needed to rise to high positions in their careers. He is also a vain man, approaching middle age, concerned that his glory days of sporting championship may be behind him. Despite their working relationship, he'd grown attracted to her, as she can be appealing if she chooses to. He'd played a bit hard to get with her, putting her off, thinking he must not be seen to be trying too hard for her, not knowing how much this would injure her pride. He played a game with her, and she was having none of it. Nothing stirs a vain man to action like jealousy."

 _Jealousy, that's what was driving you down to the dungeons, to Malfoy Manor, to the Quidditch pitch, even to this classroom. Not wistfulness, not wishfulness, jealousy. You are sadly easy to manipulate yourself, Morgan, little different from Parse Winder. And the duelling..._

"He didn't want to lose her, and certainly not to a poor, skinny schoolmaster like myself. I'd already thwarted his plans to confiscate this fortune he believed I was hiding, thus he also wanted revenge against me. But it wasn't only a matter of smug manipulation, as it might appear." This was going to be difficult, risky territory, but he had to confess, to tell the whole story. "I was also trying to divert his interest from you."

At this, Hunter crossed her arms and glared, the silent question clear on her face. He could almost feel her muscles preparing to leave. He continued.

"I saw how he flattered you with every visit, heard you talk about your holiday visit, saw the way he stood too close, held your hand too long. He planned more talks with the Ministry, introducing you to more and more important witches and wizards there. Even before his letter to you after your poisoning, I knew he would try to offer you a job. If he were distracted, I would have the chance to make my own offer, paltry though it may be." He paused, as she simply waited it out. They both knew there was more to be said. "And…I was jealous."

He'd said it. What he hadn't even wanted to tell himself. "I am no better than Parse Winder. I, too, am approaching middle age. If I had any glory days at all, they are most certainly behind me. However, I have no money, little power outside the grounds of this school, no charm, no good looks, and a rather dismal future ahead, for at least 49 years. I can't compete with Parse Winder. What witch wouldn't want him rather than me?"

 _I did. I wanted you. At least the you I thought you were. The things jealousy does to us, all of us._

"You insult me if you think I'd be interested in a jelly-brained blowhard like Parse Winder." She spoke as disgustedly as she could, arms still crossed, face still hardened.

"Jealousy blinded me." _And fear of losing you, which I can do quite capably myself with no need of help from Parse Winder or any other wizard._

Her glare had softened somewhat. She now regarded him like an object in a museum, inspecting him. So at least Hypatia Alexander had some explanation. Rather a lot of drama for this purpose; her temper must be epic. If his intent were true, he was successful; at last notice, they'd pledged themselves to one another. And if Hypatia Alexander warranted this much drama for a rescinded job offer, what would she do with a broken pledge? Hunter smiled inwardly at the scenarios, then castigated herself for finding amusement in another's troubles.

She burned with questions, but also with a greater resolve not to get dragged into his verbal chess games. She had one primary question to ask, whether he wanted to talk about it or not.

"What does your wife think of all these clever games?"

She was impressed by his managing to bring forth authentic-looking confusion. "You've mentioned a wife before. Morgan, I have no wife. I am not married. I have never been married." _And I am farther from that today than perhaps I ever have been before._

Even uttering the question was liberating. Now she prepared herself for lies, excuses, _explanations._ She sneered. "So you deny it, deny your marriage to Sybil Trelawney. You toasted with the Malfoys to your Unbreakable Vow. I witnessed it myself."

 _So that was why she was in the alley. She'd followed you to Malfoy Manor that day, apparently seeing only part of the events of that day. How did she know you were going? Why would she do that?_

"You must only have seen a portion of the day. The Unbreakable Vow that we toasted I made during the war to protect Draco Malfoy, a former student of mine. It is an eternal vow, like any other, so it will persist as long as both of us are living. He has, or rather _had,_ a manipulative and persistent admirer in Pansy Parkinson, who admired him primarily for his money, though his good looks and intelligence certainly added to his appeal. I arranged circumstances for her to become aware that his family has very little money now, despite their still having their very fine home and clothing. She had come intending they be wed that day, but changed her mind rather quickly once she understood the family's true situation. Professor Trelawney was there as my supervision, as per the conditions of my probation. We toasted Draco's rescue and our own gratefulness at having survived." At these words, he paused, remembering the many good witches and wizards who had not.

Hunter let those words sink in, feeling her stomach sink. He wasn't married, she'd been mistaken. The wedding the girls were excited for had been planned for Pansy Parkinson. He wasn't in love with Hypatia Alexander. Or at least he claimed as much. She wasn't going to pepper him with questions, wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of her inquisitiveness.

He regarded her, still skeptical, still reserved, still distant. His ache for her had only grown, now that she wasn't hurtling hexes and spells at him. He longed to understand what she needed, what was the method to regain her trust, to pull her to him again as she once been, before he'd made so many mistakes. He'd made her the job offer, explained about Hypatia, and Trelawney. He had no access to the gifts he'd planned for her. Now there was only one thing further to do and he needed to do it quickly, as he'd lost so many chances before believing there was time. As difficult as it had been to allow himself to be defeated in a duel in front of the entire staff and school, to behave like a love-struck teenager once again in a painful echo from his own school days, to admit his jealousy both to her and to himself, what was to come next would be even more difficult. If ever he needed bravery in peacetime, this was it.

"Morgan, I have given you so very little reason to trust me, so very little reason to believe my words. It is a great kindness for you to stay for these few minutes to hear me out. I will tell you the formula for the antidote, but I have more I need to say." Everything that he'd done with Lily, he'd done a second time. He'd been angry, fearful, spoken words he couldn't take back, and now he was begging for forgiveness, yet again. Only a fool would do the same thing repeatedly and expect different results. He was that fool. "I disbelieved you after the story came out in the Prophet. I deserted you. I cannot forgive myself for these mistakes, especially after my invasion of you last fall. I cannot even bring myself to beg for your forgiveness, yet again, as this is far too much to ask. I only ask you to stay, let me show you who I can be. At the end of the school year, you can decide for yourself to leave or to go. I only ask for your time."

Her heart ached, hearing words that sounded so beautiful in her ears. Words of reconciliation, words of respect. But still, only words. She'd seen so many actions, some explained today, but still only words. He hadn't cast a spell or jinx at her in their duel, which meant something. He was now completely disarmed in her presence, a strong showing of trust. But did that change her own trust in him? So many months of sadness, so many months of darkness in her soul could not be undone in a single conversation, no matter the words.

"Show me the formula."

He closed his eyes. It wasn't working. It wasn't enough. He was getting the same results as before. He gave thought to kneeling, begging, but knew before he started this would be worthless, as it had been before. It wasn't about how he felt. She now knew how he felt. Her own heart needed to change. But how, oh, how?

Resignedly, he turned to the boards. Every one was cracked, the chalk scattered across the stones of the floor. "Morgan, may I get my wand to repair the boards and help write the formula? Otherwise, it may take me all evening to write it out by hand." She gave a short nod. He noted her hand near her wand as he went to retrieve his.

"I'll help you repair the boards," she said, drawing out her own wand.

In tandem, their "Reparos" mended the chasms in the boards. They also righted and fixed a few of the desk and stools. Morgan waved the books back on the shelf while Snape patched the walls a bit. Once the classroom looked like a classroom again, rather than a battleground, he began.

"First, the ingredients," he said, waving a long list on the board. "Note that there is an equal proportion of New World and Old World components. Neither set of known substances alone has been found to act as an antidote to the present day, but little effort has been made to bring them together."

Hunter read them, many of which they'd used in their research. She pondered their characteristics as he now began to write up the preparation of each: the grinding of minerals from particular places; the harvesting, chopping, and drying of plants from both hemispheres; the sacrifice and preparation of insects, frogs, and lizards. He remarked on about the contribution each was making, confirming what Hunter had concluded upon reading the list. She took a step closer.

Now in a more comfortable setting, lecturing rather than confessing, his voice became more rhythmic, less labored. She listened carefully.

"The beetle carapace adds to the strength of the quartzite powder," she intoned. He nodded and continued on, noting the contribution each made, illustrating the theories about how each item would strengthen another. She understood every step, every preparation. "Grind instead of the traditional shredding, to release the active ingredient faster in the extraction."

She became immersed in the discussion, lost within the formula, the tone of his voice soothing her previous agitations as she began to focus on the lecture, rather than the lecturer. Every step, building on the next. An astonishingly complex formula, but perfect in its purpose. She knew what the method of brewing would be even before he drew it, a rapid extraction from the minerals, a slow, thorough boil of the plants, followed by the separation, then the frog intestine and lizard bones dissolving in the concentrate. By the time he reached the step of combining with the dry powders, she drew the equipment set-up for him.

It was heaven on earth, to think this way again. She was nearly out of breath again, but now in a good way. She was doing more of the lecturing than he was, wishing he would draw faster, finish faster. All the work they'd done on other meldings of Old and New World Potions, every experiment with other techniques, other vessels, he'd used here to great effect. He'd correct her drawings, say more about the origins of items or the best season for harvest. _We can talk about all that later. Please just go on with this amazing potion._

He tried desperately to slow the lecture down, for all too soon he would reach the penultimate step. He tried to say more about the theory, to mention attempts that hadn't worked. Incompatible ingredients, fractured vessels, worthless results. But she would simply step in and draw out the next step without even needing him to explain it. He made a few mostly minor corrections, just to buy a bit more time. She would impatiently start to talk about the next step, draw a parallel to their earlier classroom work, connect a theory here to a result there. She was constantly three thoughts ahead of him, and one drawing ahead. _Slow down,_ he begged to himself. _I want this to last forever. I want to be your Scheherazade._

Now nearly out of breath, she turned to him. "What's next? We are at the end of the list of components, everything is combined, but this still won't work. There's still something missing. It's almost there, but not quite. It doesn't feel right."

He couldn't look at her, couldn't allow himself even a glimpse. He kept his eyes on the board, on the last thing written there. Had he drawn it or had she? He didn't know, their efforts together had been so seamless. She was right, of course.

She couldn't take her eyes off him. What was going through his mind? Her thoughts, once tumbling forward, now came full stop. He was hesitating. He wasn't going to tell her, not the full formula. He hadn't expected her to catch on so well, had underestimated her. _He tricked you. You listened to his sob story, gave your time, and he's not going to give you the whole formula. You let yourself get carried away, like you always do, so ready to believe it will all go back to the way it was. Have you learned nothing of this wizard? You'd be better off blind._

Her voice, just moments before music ringing in his ears, was now back to the chilly tone he'd heard too much of today. "We had a deal, Snape. I stayed to listen to your sob story, and you were to give me formula. Not half the formula, not three-quarters, but the whole thing."

He turned to her now, met her eyes. With no more hesitation, he said "Blood."

She narrowed her eyes, silent.

"The missing component is blood."

She looked back at the board, running down the ingredients and methods in her mind. Blood would enhance the power, but just any blood wouldn't do. Nothing cold-blooded, so invertebrates and lizards were out. Birds and small animals with fast metabolisms would have hot blood, but it would take so many to harvest, it would decimate their populations irresponsibly. Larger mammals, like deer or coyotes, would have enough blood, but any decent Potioneer would struggle to find a need for all the other body parts. Try as she might, she couldn't make the formula work, not powerfully enough to revive and strengthen a person who'd received as much venom as she had. There was more he wasn't telling her, wasn't sharing with her.

Morgan Hunter had reached the end of her patience. The day had been the most exhausting day of her life since the day Phillipus died, with intellectual, emotional, and physical battles fought. Win, lose, and draw. What did she know of this man, truly? Talk was cheap and she'd seen for herself how much of a manipulator he could be. Parse, the Wizengamot, other staff at the school, even students. And her. Where did it begin and end? Why believe any words from a wizard so obviously accustomed to deceit and misrepresentation? He clearly had long practiced identifying a person's weaknesses and exploiting them to his advantage. He knew she had faced the death of her husband, knew that she found him desirable on so many levels, because she had been honest with him. He had thought her weak and needy, and had been surprised to find out something of her strength. Now he was in the position of needing to negotiate, a position in which he clearly felt uncomfortable. Severus Snape, you've found another witch who might just be able to play your game on equal footing, to your surprise, she thought smugly.

To what end? Her goal was only to get away from this place, to return to the desert and begin her life again. What was his? He knew now where the money for the school had come from, knew that Ethinian had attacked her in anger because he thought he had lost any chance of getting her fortune. Unless he wanted a large collection of cauldrons of various sizes, shapes and materials and a nice library of Western Hemisphere Potions books, she was of no particular use to him. Was it a matter of ego to retain her on staff? Several wizards and witches had implied that her working here reflected very positively on Hogwarts in general and Snape in particular. He hadn't been pressing her to stay, hadn't offered her a more permanent job until today, so that, too, might be a ruse.

She could still make the 5:30 train in Hogsmeade.

"Thank you for sharing this, Professor Snape. Perhaps I'm just not seeing what you intend me to see. I'll be going now. I'll send for the rest of my things later."

He'd never heard her sound so emotionless before, her tone flat, her eyes lifeless. She listlessly pocketed her wand, turned and walked to the door.

Every fiber of his brain rebelled. NO. NO. NO. Not again. He needed her, had to have her. She was the key to any future he might have, the link somehow to the mermaid girl. His mind reeled, all other thoughts erased. Morgan, no. Please, no.

 _NO. NO. NO. She can't leave. You can't stop her. This must not happen, I can't allow it, can't bear it, can't prevent it. I have nothing left to give. I've made the job offer, explained all the foolish and confusing situations, shared a most precious formula. I have nothing left. Without her, I will be nothing._

"The formula could be better, if I had an able partner to help me. No, an equal, a colleague, a collaborator."

She paused, turned, and regarded him coolly.

He gave up his resistance to begging. "Morgan, please stay, please work with me, please be with me. You've ensnared my senses, inhabited my veins. I'm not sure I can even live without you." His hand twitched against his wand. _That's the worst thing you could do. It wouldn't solve your real problem, and she might hex you out these windows._ With great effort, he made sure his wand hand was still.

She turned again and walked out the door.


	41. Chapter 41: Open Mind

**Good day, patient readers. Severus and Morgan have been waiting for this for a long time, as have you. Enjoy this extra-long chapter and please REVIEW. Perhaps Snape can read minds, but I can't.**

 **Enjoy - DN**

The walls of Hogwarts, once more a home than his family home had been, surrounded him as the prison the Wizengamot had intended them to be. Despite his sentence, he hadn't considered himself truly confined, until now. Shopping or carousing in Hogsmeade he considered a waste of time (and he had few Galleons for that, should his opinion change). His focus on his work meant that any needs he had to travel would be centered on school-related goals, covered under the terms of his probation, with the appropriate _supervision._ Now, he had someplace he desperately wanted to be, for purposes purely personal, that would very shortly be outside the grounds of Hogwarts. Namely, any place where Morgan Hunter was.

As he watched her walk out of the classroom, he collapsed on the bench by a window decorated with purple hyacinth. The afternoon sun on his face and the fragrant breeze, bringing the scent of daffodils from the fields to his nose, only served to remind him of that day long ago when he'd lost Lily. He'd learned nothing of love in those nearly 20 years. Strategy, revenge, curses, poisons, evasion, concealment, yes. But nothing of value for his situation now.

He cursed every person or being he knew of. Merlin. His father, who taught him only the shame and humiliation of weakness. His mother, who taught him disgust of passivity. James Potter, who brought him the shame of obligation. Lucius Malfoy, lessons of the simplicity of manipulation of the desire for approval. Voldemort, the danger and vulnerability of love. Bellatrix Lestrange, the dangers of blind loyalty. Gilderoy Lockhart, who was apparently as much a charlatan in love advice as in Defence Against the Dark Arts and dueling. Even Dumbledore. Dumbledore and his insipid little "love has magic of its own" baloney. Love had brought him nothing but misery, and now a future even more empty that it had been before, for he knew now what he was missing, knew now what was possible, but out of his reach. He tasted acid and bile in his mouth as his stomach heaved, then swallowed it again, burning deep in his chest.

Her feet felt like she was wearing leaded shoes, heavy. She should be delighted to leave, should be skipping down the halls to freedom, to sunshine and warmth. She had considered this freedom very much at risk only hours before; now, freedom was granted with no strings attached. The only part heavier than her feet was her heart. _Working together just now, so lovely. Never before have I had such a partnership, nor will I ever again._ She wished she'd never come, that she had never known what she was now losing, even if it was never real in the first place. Her gamble on the farthest-flung school she could picture, her desire to escape the painful memories in the desert, had been a losing hand.

Sedona, her goal, seemed less inviting now than it had earlier in the week as she'd lain in silence, plotting her escape against her captors. The sun she pictured seemed a bit more harsh, less inviting. The desert seemed less an openness, waiting for her to fill it, than an empty place, stretching to the shimmering horizons, cactus upon cactus topped with deep crimson roses. The buzz of energy she knew she'd feel once her feet were on the ground no longer beckoned like a magnet; instead, she imagined it being more like an itch, needing perpetually to be scratched. Hogwarts was repellent, and now her intended refuge had been forever altered in her mind. There was no place to go to be right again, to feel balanced again, except the past. Which was gone, and which was false. But it had felt so true at one time.

He gritted his teeth, holding back the agony before it spilled from his lips. There was nothing left he could give, nothing left to be done. He watched her retreating form, walking more slowly than he'd ever seen her go, none of the jauntiness in her stride that typically amused him, or annoyed him if she were too close or he were in a testy mood. He'd taken that away from her. This witch that he loved, he'd hurt her, hurt her spirit. Yes, she was a magical force to be reckoned with, a powerful spell-caster. Her heart was vulnerable in a way that her body was not. Vulnerable to his actions, to his words. Hania had written that she had experienced disloyalty and was therefore very cautious in making friends, in trusting. He'd been the very picture of disloyalty, deserting her after Ames' threats and abandoning their research collaboration. No wonder she assumed the worst in him when presented with confusing and partial facts. She had forgiven him for his mental transgression, but now her forgiveness was at an end. Now she would carry this distrust in her heart for the rest of her life. No wizard would be able to get close to her now; she'd never allow it. She would isolate herself, insulate herself, both from pain and from healing, from joy. Isolation he knew well.

 _You must not allow this wonderful witch you love to carry with her the damage you have done to her heart so clear in her body. I will not allow this for Morgan Hunter. No one shall hurt her, not even me. But there is nothing you can do, the damage is already done._

He didn't the daemon to return to hear the words. He resumed his fuming curses. Damage to himself was tolerable. Even a lifetime future filled only with Potions and Hogwarts, though agony, he would live with. Imagining her doing the same was driving him closer to madness than he'd ever been before.

 _Blast you, Albus, and all your pitiful advice. "Open yourself, let others see the good in you." Worthless tripe to convince me to endure, rather than simply moving on the the Other World, as I've wanted. Even at the hour of my death, still forcing penance on me. Enough._

He'd done all he could, given all he had to give. There was nothing more to be done.

Almost nothing.

The revelation struck him like a bludger. Determination flowed over him like a landslide. No matter the result, he had to try. In the darkness by her bedside, worried she might never recover, he had pledged to do anything for her; now it was time to rise to that commitment, no matter his aversion. Anything.

He'd done many things in his life that ran counter to his own desires. Renouncing the Death Eaters, watching young fools making pitiful attempts at Potions, resisting hexing certain members of the Order of the Phoenix, ending Albus Dumbledore's life. Each was a challenge in its' own way. This would be a new level, would test perhaps and even deeper resistance.

 _She's just as likely to reject you as to forgive, once she sees. Possibly more likely. Yes, but there is nothing else left. No matter the outcome for me, she won't go through the rest of her life thinking the worst of me, the worst of all wizards. At least she will know the truth. Even if the truth drives her farther from me. I pledged to do anything. And I will._

Snape leapt from the bench and ran to the classroom door, gripping its frame to avoid spilling wholesale into the hall, hoping to gain from the ancient wood some strength that he lacked. His robes billowed around him.

"Morgan," he choked out, to her retreating form, "I will open my mind to you, if only you'll stay a bit longer."

She continued for two more steps then halted. Broken broomsticks, Severus Snape was nothing if not persistent! He couldn't be serious. She'd never had such an offer in her life. She remained, holding back her tears of frustration, heartbreak, and betrayal, grasping the handrail of the stairs to steady herself, to keep from simply falling down them in exhaustion. Why must he torture her so? The more she saw of him, the less she truly knew him. She knew him as Hypatia Alexander's ardent lover (or perhaps not); as Sybil Trelawney's devoted husband (or perhaps not); as the stern and inflexible Headmaster; as the caustic and demanding Potions Master; as a brilliant research colleague; as a (possibly former) Death Eater; as Harry's godfather; as her companion and admirer. So many possibilities, some good, others decidedly less so.

He'd had no use for her until today, had barely spoken to her in months. Whether or not he was in pursuit of Hypatia Alexander or married to Sybil Trelawney was irrelevant, she reminded herself. He hadn't wanted her beyond as a member of his teaching staff. Apparently he'd taken her continued presence for granted, assumed she would not leave except as it suited him. Now that she'd taken her destiny in her own hands, he was having a rather dramatic change of heart, his bargaining for her to remain increasingly and alarmingly desperate, not to mention personal in nature. This went way beyond a professional relationship.

Hunter turned and regarded Snape carefully. The look on his face she hadn't seen except after he'd collapsed in the alley in Hogsmeade, with Sybil. Agonized, desperate, a man near the edge of madness. Or perhaps over the edge. But he claimed they weren't married and he wasn't critically injured.

Was his offer to allow her open access to his mind genuine? There was only one way to know. In doing so, she would know how he felt, what he saw. This would answer so many questions, even questions she wasn't sure she wanted answers to, answers to questions she didn't know to ask. Maybe the true content of the formula for the antidote. Perhaps he was skilled enough to only show her what he wanted her to see, obscuring the truth though cloaked in openness. It would be invasive, no matter what.

She had on occasions fought her way inside another, particularly in her training, but this was not a technique one used on a peer. Not usually. She couldn't recall a time that someone had simply opened for her, allowed it willingly, without resistance, but with invitation. Like lending someone your wand, it simply wasn't done.

The silence in the corridor continued to gather as she weighed her options. He claimed her impressions were mistaken, that he had no interest in Hypatia Alexander, that Sybil Trelawney was not his wife. That he desired her, couldn't live without her, whatever that implied. She couldn't imagine learning something that would make her feel more miserable than she felt at this moment. The freedom she's hungered for was already disappointing. If this were an elaborate ruse, another among his catalogue of manipulations, a trick to lure her in for capture, she only barely cared. She would likely be too tired to resist now, but find an escape later, once she'd fully recovered, she told herself. A train for London left Hogsmeade twice a day; she'd have a chance another time, if she wasn't a captive. If she was, she wouldn't have been able to leave today. She had nothing, and therefore had nothing to lose. She set her heavy feet back towards the classroom.

As she approached warily, Snape's mind raced as it had never done before. Dumbledore had advised him to open himself, but to do so in this way meant not only would she see the good in him, she'd also see … other things. All the things he'd never told her about, or only implied without much detail, might come rising to the surface. She was surely as likely to find him repulsive as not, but he could not face a future without knowing he'd done everything possible to heal her, to prevent her having a lifetime of doubt in herself, a lifetime of keeping others at a distance. No doubt she would be as difficult to control within his mind as she'd been in the lab, in the infirmary, and in the forest. She never did what he expected. Especially today. Now she would poke about, find all the most difficult thoughts, make connections, and question everything she saw. To attempt to hide or obscure those thoughts would betray his pledge to her, drive her away in distrust. He pledged anything. So be it.

She entered the room, not with curiosity, but exhaustion written on her countenance. Not interest and eagerness, but resignation. She collapsed heavily at the desk nearest the door, her hand on her wand, unspeaking. She rested her head in her hands for a moment, then seemed to think the better of resting her eyes even for a moment. Her head snapped back up as her hand clenched her wand pocket.

Snape was dismayed, witnessing these signals of distrust. He'd been focused on her victory over the Scorpion Venom, but she was clearly not fully recovered. Instead, she felt defeated by him and worn down by this day. He strode to a desk across the room, far from the door, wondering how to begin this strangest of conversations.

"Morgan, I will open my mind to you, offer no resistance, shield nothing from you. Explore anything you might want. But first, please allow me to place a few protective spells around the room. I don't want any interference from anyone else who might happen along. I will be fully open."

She nodded silently, unsurprised at his request. She watched him cast his wand to all windows, walls, the ceiling and floor, putting up barriers to invasion. When he closed the door, he put no locking charm on it, only the barriers to mental invasion. She could easily leave. When he finished, he paused, placing his wand aside on the desk adjacent to hers before walking to one across the room. Unarmed again.

What did she hope to learn for this mental invasion? Would it bring her any sense of peace, or understanding, or only more pain? Her dread filled her like heat filled the desert in the summer. She raised her wand to her temple and uttered "Legilimens" and began.

Slowly she moved into his consciousness, more than a little worried about what she might find there. This was a strange event; going from several months of chilly professionalism and emotional distance, to invading thoughts and feelings. She found herself in darkness, which was not surprising to her. Then his emotional state hit her. Despite his calm exterior demeanor, sitting at a desk in a sunny classroom, his thoughts were a raging storm. He was thinking of her, leaving him. There were flashes of him alone in a grubby apothecary shop, her leaving on her trip to Beauxbatons, his kneeling beside her hospital bed at night, holding her inert hand to his cheek. Mixed in were images of another witch with red hair, rejecting him. Of a young girl with dark hair in braids, who was angry with him. Who were they?

She didn't want to see this, it was already too much. Layers of memories, dread of the future, images of hopelessness churned with other layers of hope and devotion. She needed to focus, to pull at only one thread. She moved towards the apothecary shop. This was composed partly of memories as an apprentice himself, then as an owner, but the other part was a future scene. She started with the past. He had used his talents skillfully as a young man, but he was no longer pleased with the purpose of the potions, which were often poisons. Who had requested them? Why had he complied with such requests? He lamented that past, but had pride in his ability to make such technically complex formulations. The future Potion shop was boring him senseless, with benign cosmetic potions being his stock-in-trade. Why would he give up teaching?

 _I can't continue without you. I can't subject students to a Headmaster or teacher who no longer cares about his work, can't damage their futures. They only get one chance at an education._

She moved away from the shop, back into the jumble of his thoughts. They were a bit less chaotic now, but still piled upon one another in waves. The two of them working together, their times in the Astronomy tower, some other, painful event in the Astronomy tower. But her being there helped, changed the way he felt being there. What had happened there?

Of course he knew she would dig into things he'd rather she didn't, but did she have to be so quick about it? He had so little time to prepare himself. He was surrounded by others, his wand arm outstretched, as an old wizard with a long beard fell.

 _I had to kill a friend, my mentor, the previous Headmaster of this school, Albus Dumbledore._

Her heart sank into her stomach. The worst of the rumors were true. He was a murderer.

She didn't know what to do, didn't know what to think. She readied herself for what he might do next, now that he'd revealed his true nature. He made poisons, killed the Headmaster. And this was only the beginning. She shifted in her seat, feeling the comforting wood of her wand, alert of any sudden movement on his part. The further threats never came, no wall of rage or hatred. She could only feel the heavy weight of remorse.

 _Why did you do those things?_ She wasn't sure why she'd even put the question out there. It didn't matter. He was a killer.

She knew the worst in him now. She was lost to him. Her accusations would come in a wave; his responses would sound weak and hollow. Mistakes all those years ago, still ruining his hopes. Twenty years gone by, more than half his life, and he would continue to pay. But he had pledged to tell her anything, everything. So he continued.

 _I joined the Death Eaters when I was young and thirsty for power and revenge against those who I thought had stolen someone I loved from me. Then I found that the Death Eaters would truly steal her, kill her even. Simply leaving the Death Eaters is impossible, so I needed another strategy. Albus saw some glimmer of worth in me and gave me an opportunity to save at least some part of my soul. I killed him because he asked me to. He knew he was dying and that his death, at my hands and witnessed by others, would seal the trust of Voldemort, the leader of the Death Eaters, securing my position with him, while keeping me here at the school to protect it as best I could. Killing him was the hardest thing I've ever done._

 _The witch with the red hair, the one you love, she was the one they killed._

 _Yes, Lily._

His thoughts once again became scattered with images of himself as a young boy with the red-haired witch, a fight they'd had, his anger and resentment, a silver doe patronus, Harry Potter.

 _Harry is her son, your godson._

 _Yes._

 _Why would she have chosen a Death Eater as the godfather for her son?_

 _She didn't. He chose me, much later. Earlier this year, in fact. The godfather she'd chosen for him died before the war began._

Harry had chosen him?

 _Did Harry not know about your past?_

 _There is no one who knows more about me than Harry, though that may change today._

He knew about Snape, but chose him anyway. She could not imagine what could possibly make a person overlook so much.

She went back, determined to observe, to simply allow his thoughts to churn, to see where they would lead naturally.

What came next was a jumble of images of her, starting together in the Astronomy tower, in the lab, in his office, her leaving for Hogsmeade, a walk by the lake. She needed to pick out a direction. She pulled at a thought that looked like the dungeons, seeking to understand more about how he felt about her. But where this thread led wasn't the dungeons, but some other place, deserted and destroyed.

Harry was bending over him, with a flaming pain in his neck spreading through his body as snake venom took its toll. Harry collecting his memories as they leaked out, followed by a feeling of being at peace, of release, of the closing in around her of green clouds.

Then she was underwater. Snape was swimming, holding his breath for an incredibly long time. His body was covered in scars and bruises, his nose broken and swollen. He felt like he was being beaten, in agony, as a merperson spread mud on the scars. She felt his resignation to some of this pain, his remorse, atonement. At others, anger and rage. She could see the faces of students being hurt by someone, not by Snape, but he couldn't stop it, though he badly wanted to. With each blow, he diverted as much of their pain to himself as he could, as mercy to counteract the effects of this cruel deputy Headmaster. Then he was swimming upwards, with a young mergirl. With long dark hair and dark eyes; who looked oddly familiar. Hunter couldn't place her.

The scene faded, and he was in the hospital, Poppy was saying he had died and come back somehow.

 _You died in the war?_

 _Yes._

The next question fell from her consciousness before she could stop it. _What was it like?_

 _I did not know if Voldemort was defeated or not, if I had saved Harry. I felt as though my whole life had been a waste._

The pain he felt was too much. She asked no more.

He'd been killed by the Death Eaters in the end, then healed in some way. During the war, he had been unable to stop the punishment of students, but was able to take their pain to himself, so that they would at least survive. The healing had been a second torture for him, the pain as much in release as it had been to receive. He'd spent years disguised as a true Death Eater, with almost no one he could reveal his true nature to. No wonder he was so skilled at deception and manipulation.

She drew back and followed a different thread. Now he was in his private chamber, which she had never seen. It was odd that it had been too invasive to visit him in his room even when they were seeing each other socially, and that the first time she saw it was in this most intimate way. Trelawney was there, not as a romantic partner, but as a counselor. She was talking about her vision of his future and a little girl. She felt his feelings of emptiness about his future, his resentment for having lived, evolving to his yearning for the girl to be real. The mist grew and the scene changed.

He was striding alone through empty dungeons, unexpectedly hearing someone and following the sound. He opened the door forcefully, and there was the little girl, her back to him. His heart skipping a beat, anticipation. He was to meet her at last. Was she to be a student here? He was confused for a moment, and then she turned. It was her, Morgan Hunter. He was temporarily stunned, the scent of lavender and rosemary clouding his other senses. He was not sure if he was in a dream state or reality, then harshly snapped back to reality. Now he was walking away, his hands shaking, wondering if she was his future, then his self-derision. How could he possibly imagine that the famous Morgan Hunter would take an interest in a poor and taciturn schoolmaster?

She followed this thread further into the future, to the beginning of the school year. When the students returned, the first night. As he strode up the main aisle of the Great Hall, she felt not the desire to humiliate and intimidate, but his humility at how many had returned, his pride in their strength to return to a place which held, for many, terrible memories, some of them terrible memories of him; his determination to make Hogwarts a place of excellence, to live up to the trust given to him as Headmaster. To heal them. She felt a jumble of thoughts, his sadness at the missing students, naming the student who should be at each empty seat at house tables; missing teachers; his being nearly the only one among his own Hogwarts classmates still living. Seeing Harry Potter return, feeling some combination of pride, relief, and yearning for Harry's mother, all rolled together in a jumble that twisted his stomach. He realized too late that he had lectured for too long; his jumbled stomach didn't care for a meal, but the students' did.

That scene faded, and it was the two of them, working on their research proposal. His pleasure in setting his mind to work at something other than evasion and battle. His surprise that her approach was so similar to his own.

 _You underestimated me._

 _Many times, and always to my own detriment_.

She smiled weakly to herself, perhaps her first for today. Then reminded herself of whose mind she was in, and to be wary. Now they were in the lab. He wasn't sure if he should share his ideas about temperament with her, so he wrote it, already knowing she would read it, particularly if he read her notes first. His relief that she, a world-class Potion-maker, both understood the idea and felt it worthy of further pursuit. The beating of his heart, watching her work. The hope building, change being possible.

Then, walking to the forest.

 _I don't want to see this, please, it's too much_ , she pleaded.

 _These are my thoughts, not yours. You are free to withdraw anytime, but I would ask you to be gentle as you exit and not inflict on me a migraine again._

She felt a smug smile again, despite her intention to resist. _Sorry._

 _I deserved it, and worse, but I can't say I'd like to repeat it._

The forest. Forbidden to students, and dangerous to most, but merely a playground for Severus Snape. She felt awash in the full range of his senses in a way the other threads of thoughts and memories lacked. He could smell the dirt yielding the best plants, hear the smallest breezes, feel the power of the earth through his feet. His vision in the night was incredible, almost like daylight, seeing even the smallest changes in color or texture. The night brought out his intensity, with a full moon on the solstice, and he was driven to collect every possible specimen that he could, imagining the power of the resultant products. Images of the preparation, followed by the use of the Potion by a student or the staff, filled him with pride.

Then he turned, hearing his name, sounding to him like the rustle of silk, the vibrations of his intensity suddenly focused sharply at her. All other sensations died away, leaving him only that sound as his heartbeat increased. He nearly dropped his case. His struggle to restrain himself, not to run towards her, but walk, revealing nothing of this inner storm on his surface. Now the night breezes were covered by the rush of blood through his ears, the only smell her lavender and rosemary perfume, his feet not even feeling the ground as he was drawn to her, the crashing wave of electricity when she took his hand, the explosion of his mind when their lips touched. The cursed wave of coldness when he saw the bluebells, as his growing intensity dissipated, replaced with disappointment and resignation. His determination that she should not embarrass herself further on his account, taking her to Madame Pomfrey. Admonishing himself for his lack of foresight.

She expected to feel his rage, followed by his return to the forest. But instead, she felt inspiration, responsibility, a sense of urgency and protection. The forest seemed so much brighter than she remembered it. When he stopped, he was smelling, but not the bluebells. Lavender and rosemary.

 _You knew I was there_.

 _Yes._

 _Why didn't you call me out?_

 _You seemed to want to be private about this. And I didn't want you to throw yourself at me again._

 _That's a lie._

 _Yes, I would have given almost anything to relive that moment._

Morgan allowed that warm thought to brush across her, then she brushed it away. She was allowing herself to be drawn in, just what she was determined to resist.

 _Why am I not feeling your emotions with this memory? You said you'd be completely open,_ she accused.

 _You are._

 _But you were angry when you ripped up the bluebells. I am not feeling your anger. What else are you hiding?_

 _I am hiding nothing. I wasn't angry._

 _You weren't? You destroyed every bluebell in sight!_

 _I was harvesting them. I recognized that they were particularly potent, obviously, so I returned to take more._

 _Why? I thought they were used mostly by parents and … disreputable witches and wizards._

 _Am I not a disreputable wizard? You might think so if you read the Daily Prophet._

 _You took me to see Madame Pomfrey, even though you knew I would hate you for it._

 _I would have hated myself more if I had taken advantage of you. It occurred to me that I might protect some students by exposing them a little at a time, in case their parents had not already done so._

Morgan felt herself softening, remembering the event.

 _At the Halloween Ball._

 _It seemed like an appropriate time. However, combined with your Boldness Charm, I found the need to tone things down a bit._

She smiled inwardly, remembering the effectiveness of his pranks. _Making students vomit seems a bit much._

 _You weren't the only one laughing at the time, as I recall. Shall we stop now, Dr. Hunter? Are you getting tired?_

 _Not a bit. Continue._

His lonely walk back from the forest to his apartment, the silence and stillness closing in.

The next morning at breakfast, stunned by the photo. His confusion at first, not recognizing the man in the picture, combined with enjoyment of the look on her face. Followed by the crushing awareness that every student in the Great Hall, as well as the staff and readership of this flagship publication of the Witch and Wizarding world had seen this. Now she knew what his anger felt like and it was fierce. The fire of his temper made real, softened slightly by regret that he hadn't taken a more temperate approach, at least for the owls' sake.

This scene faded to one with Harry Potter, his deep pride that Harry had asked him to be his godfather, commingled with his frustration that Harry didn't have the sense to choose someone with better prospects and shame that he had so little to offer those that he cared about.

 _Why was it difficult for you to admit that you care about Harry Potter? Because he is Lily's son?_

Snape paused. _Harry and I have a long history with one another. Yes, Lily is his mother, and that brings her to my mind every time I look at him. I spent years bitter at the loss of his mother, both her friendship with me and her life. That bitterness spread to him. I cultivated my enmity toward him partly as a natural habit, partly to protect him from becoming a pawn to those who wanted to break him during the war._

 _It isn't easy to give up habits, even if circumstances change._

 _Yes._

Her own circumstances were changing. She felt doubt creeping in, doubt on top of doubt. He was a former Death Eater, he hadn't denied it. He had killed, directly and probably indirectly with his Potions. He still had within him a good measure of anger, but also sadness, self-doubt, and regret. Perhaps he was a different wizard now.

With his vision of Harry, she felt his determination to overcome his own lack of a decent father, as well as the understanding that the relationship would change dramatically over time, that Harry's school days were nearly at an end. At the Binding, the acceptance of some of Harry's spirit, and the letting go of some of his own.

There were scenes of classes, of meals, of work. She saw a vision of herself, walking out the Hogsmeade bridge, on her way to Beauxbatons. She felt his longing and emptiness, which he filled with work, grading papers, dictating school communications, signing college applications, throwing himself into work to avoid the spectre of self-pity. His anticipation of her return. She was walking down a long hall, and again, his could see the little mergirl in her, until she drew closer. His longing to hold her.

 _You missed me, even then?_

 _Yes._

Then the Halloween Ball. The extract of Midnight Bluebells scattered in the bushes, now combined with her Boldness Charm. His smug delight in pranking the students in the garden almost made her laugh all over again. His night vision and senses alert, taking in the scent of the fall, the gardens, the anxiety of students. His hope that she would come, relief that she did, and his restraint in not simply attacking her when she approached. His joy in her forgiveness. After their kiss, his feeling delighted, confused, and anxious, knowing how much he desperately wanted to be with her, but also knowing he had so little to offer, between his probation and poverty. His wanting her to understand these facts, so she wouldn't be surprised or disappointed later.

Scenes of their work together passed, his pleasure in their walks and meals, their times spent alone together. But every thread that drew them closer was always paired with the foretaste of disaster, knowing everything would unravel, that she would be gone by the end of the year, that he couldn't afford to pay her next year, that he was no kind of marriage prospect.

No thoughts of Sybil, she noted. Not one.

Then Janiss, his suspicion giving way to understanding as the relationships played themselves out. Finding the chess game here much easier to play than that of her alone. Anger that he might be played for a fool equally matched with fear. Seeing a way out that would conserve his pride. His puzzlement at her reaction, followed by the desolation of loneliness.

The missing Scorpion Venom, his rapid-fire connection to a threat to her from Ethinian and a risk to Janiss as collateral damage. His desire to protect his student, even one who had betrayed him.

In the quiet of the lab, she sat quietly, trying to make sense of what she knew, but remained inside his mind. He hadn't left her because he didn't want her; quite the contrary, he wanted her very much, but felt no hope that she might actually love him in return. The machinations of protecting her fortune from Ethinian explaining for him the otherwise unexplainable, her desire for him.

 _Would you like to stop?_

 _No, I want to see when you invaded me._

 _That's too embarrassing_ , he murmured, echoing her own words.

 _Show me,_ she commanded.

She was standing next to him at breakfast. He was torn, frustrated by his own words, and yet unsure of her. The _Daily Prophet_ was only worth the bottom of a birdcage, and yet the words brought forth the uncertainty of her past. He didn't want to put himself in a vulnerable position if she was only overtaken by bluebells, if she was only after his nonexistent fortune. Or worse, to show his own feelings before he was sure about hers. Best to get to over with now, rather than draw it out. _I am the finest Legilimens of my time_.

 _Really._

 _I told you it was embarrassing,_ he added heatedly.

His slow intrusion, his standing idly by, simply allowing her thoughts to proceed. She smiled to herself, remembering feeling his soft shuffling approach, like a child hiding behind curtains with his feet sticking out. But she wasn't laughing at the time, she was angry, but she had kept that deep inside, setting up her mental trap. He knew it was a trap as soon as the door opened, knew that he was caught, but still desperately hoped for some kind of miracle that would let him escape unseen. Her great push, followed by the blinding pain.

 _I didn't know I hurt you that much. I didn't even know I could._

He didn't need to reply, as she now felt his shame, not at all about being caught nor about not being the world's best and most stealthy Legilimens, but about his assault on her, his lack of honor. His desire to go to her at once and his realization that she wouldn't welcome him for any reason at that moment. That her need for time and being apart was greater than his need to be with her.

Now scenes of their time apart. His wrapping himself in the cloak of professionalism, restraint, combined with careful observation of her whenever he could. His dreams, sometimes about her, sometimes about the little girl, waking no more rested than when he fell asleep. His thoughts of suicide, his elaborate plan to provide for everyone he cared about, someone to fill every role. McGonegal as Headmaster, Sinistra as Deputy and head of Slytherin House. Bill Weasley as a godfather to Harry. Hypatia Alexander as the new Potions Master, assuming she would want to leave this cold and dark place at her first chance.

His fevered work in the dungeons, during every waking moment outside of class and meals. Reading, studying, experimenting, drawing together everything they had worked on, determination persisting in the face of some many failures, finally realizing the necessary ingredient. Blood, but not just any blood. The blood of a lover. He hoped his would be enough. Bleeding himself, over and over, until the Potion had enough power.

 _Your blood. That was what was missing, the final step._

 _Yes._

 _But the amount needed would be too much._

 _Yes._

She saw him, alone by his fireplace, entranced by the flames, planning his exit. Drained, only barely still living, each role filled. Cursing himself, thinking of all the times he fought so hard for life, only to find himself wishing for death now that he had been victorious.

Shocking icy water, Harry, the little girl, and Trelawney. She had seen this part, seen them. It wasn't a romantic embrace, but one of survival.

Morgan was aghast. He'd wanted to end his life, but only after he'd drained himself out, for her survival and for Janiss's, if they needed the antidote. Harry had nearly lost his life saving him. He had seen Sinistra because he needed a Head of House, Hypatia as a teacher. Her mind spun, trying to make sense of all this.

Now, in his dungeon classroom, Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode hanging around after class. Pansy attempting to kiss Snape, a copycat of Janiss, but he was ready for her. The photo showed her trying and his resistance and putting forth the start of a Shield Charm. Her blackmail threat. His giving her time to say more about why she would do so, and seeing an opportunity to end her harassment of him, while doing a good turn to a friend. She saw Pansy and Millicent walk out, heard them talking about a Binding, but she meant her own Binding to Draco Malfoy. Morgan sighed.

 _You can stop any time. I'll allow you in again, if you'd rather rest._ His tone was soft.

 _No, I need to see this._

She felt his weakness and fatigue, as he bled himself again, making another batch of the antidote. He asked Trelawney to come. He needed supervision according to his probation, and she was the staff member he most trusted, after her visions about the little girl and his future. The Malfoy Manor, and the discomfort of visiting a friend that you'd both deceived and honored. The tacit understanding between people who know clearly about doing what must be done to survive in a complicated world. The son, the trickery with poor Pansy

 _Poor Pansy,_ he snorted _. She knew exactly what she was doing._

 _But she's still a child, still your student, in your House, even._

 _Perhaps._

The celebration of getting rid of Pansy on her own accord, probably forever off Draco's back, of Snape honoring yet again the Unbreakable Vow to Draco, the celebration of survival itself.

 _I didn't know you were a mixologist._

 _Isn't every Potion-master?_

Now, back in the alley, seeing the broken umbrella, knowing there was a problem, suspecting who would be in danger. Waiting in Hogsmeade. Witnessing Ethinian poisoning her. Trying to save her, being too weak, cursing himself. Seeing her fall. The antidote, carried everywhere, knowing there could be trouble at any time. Sibyl, give it to her, all of it, as quickly as you can. No, No, No, Not again. Too late, again. And his hex too poorly done to kill me. Still a life sentence.

HIs overwhelming relief that she wasn't dead, his hope for her recovery. Feeling how empty he was without her. His pledge to do anything for her, no matter what the future might hold. The note from Parse Winder.

 _You weren't angry with me?_

 _I was angry with Parse, but certainly not with you. Why would I be?_

 _Because you...because…_

 _I don't possess you, I don't own you. You broke no promise. But I also didn't admit defeat, though Parse would be quite a catch._

 _He's a blowhard._

 _A very handsome, well-placed, and wealthy blowhard._

 _If you think that matters to me, you know very little._

Her shocking recovery, then panic rising with the realization of what was to happen that day. His misery in having to fulfill his promise to Hypatia Alexander, but now in front of her. The duel, his barely even trying, then his overwhelming need to reach her, to tell her.

She withdrew from his mind, back to the room. Still the same, two people, two chairs. A warm afternoon breeze. But everything changed.

Her mind was working, connections and implications piling up like snow against the dungeon windows in a blizzard. She worked clarify what she'd seen, to see things this new light. Everything she had believed was wrong about him. Or was it? At one time, she had believed him to be honorable, to be true. He had disarmed for her, twice. Opened his mind, shown her everything she had wanted to see, and more. Even the bad parts, the horrible parts. There was so much more to him than that, though.

Severus Snape sat silently in the classroom, feeling her withdrawal. She said nothing now. What could she say? She now knew he was a murderer, a coward, as well as poor and imprisoned. At least she also knew that he loved her, admired her, that he had meant only to protect her, that his aims of late, even if difficult to understand, had been intended for her benefit. Of course she would leave him, that wasn't in question. Knowing his past as she did now, what else would be possible? But perhaps she would not think every wizard was a cad. Perhaps she would not spend the rest of her years isolating behind her own barriers.

He raised his eyes to hers. She regarded him openly in her direct fashion. "Severus."

He said nothing. What would she say? That she appreciated his being open with her, appreciated the job offer, but she needed to move on. The damage done.

"Severus, I'll open my mind."

"Dr. Hunter…,"he began, raising his hands in protest, then putting them down again, so as not to threaten her with them.

"Please don't be formal, not now," she begged.

He paused, meeting her gaze. At last, he began again. "Morgan, there is no obligation. We can stop now."

"No, I want to. I want you to see what I see."

He hesitated. What would she show him? The hurt she had suffered because of him? Her misery here in the Highlands? "Prepare yourself for the finest Legilimens of the age."

She laughed out loud while he smiled, surprised and confused at her reaction. "I think I am prepared."

"Yes, I supposed that's so."

He hesitated just the same, still embarrassed by his previous invasion. At last, he moved ahead and eased in, so as to reduce the onslaught of her anger and pain. It was the forest again.

 _I thought this was too embarrassing. You needn't relive it again._

 _I relive this almost every night._

 _Oh._ Oh?

There she was, walking with him in the night in the forest. It was dark to her, as he expected it would be. He could feel her excitement, but was surprised that she was enjoying being with him as much as hearing about the various plants, insects, and woods and their properties. In the moonlight, there was something so strange about him. He didn't look at all like himself.

 _Why do I look like that? So unlike how I really look?_

 _That's how auras look._

 _No, I mean...aura? I'll ask about that later. No, I mean, I don't look like that._

 _How?_

 _Handsome,_ he intoned hesitantly.

 _But you are._

He snorted.

 _Severus Snape, tell me you aren't fishing for compliments._

 _Hardly._ He sneered dismissively _._

She had a dawning. _The time underwater. You were covered in scars, your nose was broken. You were being healed, restored._

 _Only my bones and flesh._

 _You don't know what you look like now, you only know what you used to look like. In your room, when I saw you with Trelawney, there's no mirror._

 _I have no need of one._

 _I'll find one for you._

Back to the forest. Her eyes following him, admiring. Her fascination and desire. The difficulty of taking that first step to break the barrier of professionalism, of not knowing how he'd react, but steeling herself for the task. Feeling the kiss, from her side, which was surprisingly similar to his own experience. Electric.

Her misunderstanding of why he was taking her back to the castle.

 _You thought I was taking you to my apartment?_ He choked in disbelief.

 _I was hopeful…_ He could feel her blush.

The hospital wing and her fear and desperation about the Amoreverselixir. Taking it, feeling it, but not feeling any different. Disappointment that he apparently didn't feel the same way. Her stealthy following him back to the forest, despite the fact that it was so dark, having trouble keeping up with him and being afraid she'd get lost in the darkness. Her sadness that he was ripping up the bluebells, thinking he was angry and bitter. Her resisting the urge to go to him, thinking he would only take her back to Madame Pomfrey for more potion.

 _What else do you want to see?_

 _The desert._

 _Why?_

 _Because I will never see it, except through you._

She showed him a day that was one of her favorites. It was in the afternoon in August, as hot and as dry as the desert ever is. She was facing southwest, into the blaze of the sun, feeling the energy from the dirt hot through her beaded leather shoes, following the scent of the desert flowers and plants to gather ingredients. Feeling the vibrations of the crystals. Harvesting Scorpion Venom.

 _You harvest it yourself?_

 _You harvest all your own ingredients. Well, most of them._

 _Not Scorpion Venom._

Watching the sun set, feeling the heat fade and the chill coming on through her light blue cotton robe. Listening for the many desert creatures who were more active at night and taking a few. Watching the stars come up. Someone approaching.

 _You can stop here, I have no desire to pry._

 _This was one of the best days of my life._

It was Phillipus. She knew by the sounds of his footsteps, could feel his energy through the ground. She felt his hands slide around her waist, her spirit relaxing into his embrace. He pointed where she looked. "Saturn is rising in Orion, the hunter." She couldn't see Saturn, but admired his sharp vision. She turned to look at him, glowing blue in the darkness.

 _You had taken Auralite that day, too, I take it?_

He could feel her hesitation, a long pause. _No._

 _Why does he glow that way?_

More hesitation. _It's his aura. He was always blue, always true and honorable. That's what I loved about him. So few people are._

 _You don't need a potion? You see this all the time?_

 _Yes. It's what drew me to you. You are blue, most of the time, and at the strangest times._

 _The strangest times?_

 _When I think you are being deceptive and should be green, you are still blue, though sometimes a little bluish-green. When the students think you are angry, you are still blue. They turn yellow, but you are blue, because you are actually concerned for their future. When you were harvesting the bluebells, I thought you'd be an angry red, but still you were blue. I knew you didn't really mean what you were saying when you accused me of wanting your fortune, because there you were greenish-blue, not red-orange. And with Parse and the investigation, even though I knew for certain that you were lying, still there was blue mixed with the green. It made me doubt myself, make me doubt everything. I thought I'd lost my sight, that I was losing my mind. And today, with Hypatia. Your ardent words of love, your fearful looks, and yet still, blue, with just a little green around the edges. Not purple, not red, not yellow. When you fell on the Quidditch pitch, still no fear, even though it looked like you might die in front of us all._

 _What is it like, to see people this way?_

 _Horrible, for the most part. I know when people are lying, but not the truth. And everyone lies, even your friends. I know when people are afraid, but not what they fear. The only thing worse is thinking I could still see the aura, but that it didn't mean what I thought it should. I thought I was going crazy._

 _I haven't met a witch who can see this before, never even read about it._

 _There are a few of us and we keep it very secret. Governments and criminals take too great an interest in witches like me, and it never ends well for us._

 _Did Ames know and that's why he disliked you, because you could see his deception?_

 _Ethinian would have hated me no matter what. His family descends from witches and wizards who came to the New World on the Mayflower. They consider their Magic to be superior to native Magic. When Phillipus came to Sedona and we fell in love, Ethinian believed their parents would disown him and leave the family fortune to him alone. They didn't like me, but they could see that our love was real. Ethinian considered me a thief of what was rightfully his. When Phillipus' mines did well, he was even more angry and jealous because he knew I was the key. I can feel the energy from the crystals, so I knew if a mine would yield trash or treasure before we invested in them. Phillipus invited Ethinian to go into business with him, but he wouldn't do it so long as I was an equal partner._

They returned to the scene in the desert. The feeling she had, of being so comfortable with another person, so sure. He envied her, having never felt that way in his life. Even with Lily, he had never known how she really felt, had never felt at ease. Only desire, disappointment, shame, humiliation, and resentment of James.

The stars of the desert were amazing, filling the broad sky, more dense than he'd ever seen without a telescope. He rested his mind in hers. wishing for all the world that he could give her that feeling of certainty. Wishing that he could share in that feeling for her.

The scene changed to breakfast in the Great Hall. She was thinking of him, he was only a few seats away, but she kept her eyes on her porridge.

 _I am now officially sick of porridge and pumpkin juice. Don't you Brits ever have anything else for breakfast?_

 _We do now that we have a better budget for food. You can thank yourself for that._

She knew he was invading her right away.

 _Please, this really is embarrassing._

 _Don't leave yet._

He obliged, feeling sick to relive one of his own worst moments. Her whole mindscape suddenly turned blue-green, suffused with his aura. Her anger and desire to shame him.

 _I didn't stand a chance._

 _No one does with witches who see auras. You underestimated me._

 _Slowly, I am learning not to do that._

Now she switched the Halloween Ball, nervous, hoping she was dressed well and looking her best ( _You were stunning, breath-taking._ ). Talking with the other witches, enjoying their company and conviviality. He admired her easy relations with the other members of the staff, something he had never cultivated. She noted his exit and followed stealthily behind. Laughing at his games with the students. Then approaching, her every nerve alert. His blue aura, like Phillipus. Her determination that he should never invade her mind again, but being willing to forgive. The kisses in the garden, the healing power of her forgiveness, her relaxing into his embrace. No evidence of trickery, no trace of bluebells or potions. No thoughts of fortunes to be kept or gained. Only pleasure in him.

Real.


	42. Chapter 42: Afternoon

**Good day, readers. Thanks for your reviews, favorites, and follows. This chapter was difficult to write, so I'd love to hear your thoughts. And thanks to my far-flung readers. I see Brazil, Estonia, South Africa, Chile, Singapore, and so many other places. Alaska, are you still following, too?**

 **Happy holidays to everyone everywhere. Enjoy!**

 **DN**

Real.

How was it possible? How much more proof could you need, he wondered? He drifted out of her mind again, reoriented himself to the room. Unchanged. Never to be the same again.

She had loved him. Her love had been real. He had rejected a true lover.

He continued to sit silently by the window, wondering how long he could extend this moment until it was over and gone forever. What could he say? He had mistrusted her, invaded her mind, and nearly let her die in front of him. She knew he had no fortune of any kind and no prospect of one in the future. Having no fortune of her own, having so rashly given it over to the school, she would need someone with a means of support more than before.

And the small matter of his having been a Death Eater, having made his living producing poisons, having killed Albus. All the rest of his foolishness, his darkness. His love for another.

Competing thoughts struggled within him for primacy: "You are worthy of love. The witch that you love, loved you in return." "You rejected the only love you may ever have."

The first thought was a revelation. When it rose, his heart felt light, expansive. When the second overtook him, a return to the kind of crushing remorse he hadn't felt in nearly 17 years. The vacillation exhausted him further. He rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head, lacking the will to raise it.

Snape heard her stir, rising. She must be ready to leave now. Instead, her steps came nearer to him, until he could no longer look away. He prepared himself for her onslaught, a Howler delivered live and in person, all of the hurt that he'd caused her, spilled out upon him. He turned to her, and saw tears welling in her eyes. He'd never seen her cry before. Her pain must be extreme to cause this reaction.

She sat on the bench next to him and slid her hand in his. The electricity of her touch, so unexpected, caused him to stiffen and sit up, all his senses on alert.

"Severus," she said, her voice cracking. "I know what it's like to feel so alone, to be in such a dark place. I'm so sorry you felt that way."

She wasn't departing on the next train, she wasn't castigating him for treating her so badly. She hadn't drawn her wand. She was sitting unbelievably close to him, holding his hand, her words kind and tender. Why? He continued to feel the warm hand of Morgan Hunter in his, feeling her warmth flow through him. When he at last felt able to look at her face, he found her to be gazing at him unwaveringly. He wanted desperately to know what she was thinking now, but the moment had passed and he had exited.

"What is my aura now?" Was she sad, angry, worried, resigned? He silently wished he had a supply of Auralite with him now. It would be wise to add this to the cache of vials he kept in his jacket pockets for everyday needs.

"Blue, as always, but with yellow. I have only seen yellow in your aura twice before."

The aura of fear. He knew precisely when. "In the alley in Hogsmeade and when I confronted you about the article in the Daily Prophet."

"Yes."

What he had feared most was her leaving, but her rejection or ridicule were close behind. The opportunity to face our greatest fears is often frittered away by shirking the smaller ones along the way. He would fritter away no more, waste no more time.

Severus Snape continued to hold her hand while descending to his knees before her. Taking both her hands, covered in dust and chalk, in his, he closed his eyes, being unable to both hold her gaze and speak. Her scent was one of slightly burned cotton and singed hair. He heard the rush of his blood in his ears, felt her pulse quickening. "Morgan, will you stay? The hurt I've caused you can never be undone, and for this I will never forgive myself. Give me the chance to show you the wizard I can be. Work with me, be with me, until the end of the school year. I can offer you nothing but my own talents, modest though they be, and my soul, damaged though it be."

Morgan Hunter took in this scene, Severus kneeling before her. His only fear had been her leaving him, yet he'd pushed her away, so firm was his belief that she could not possibly love him, perhaps that no one could. All that she hadn't known of him, his past as a Death Eater, his early career making deadly potions, killing his friend. He had spent a long time living with guilt, stretched between two worlds, unable to truly live in either of them. Isolated, with no source of comfort, not able accept love freely given. She knew this feeling well, having locked herself away after Phillipus' accident. Denying offers of friendship, of healing. Telling herself she could do it alone. No more.

He felt her lips on his hair, a gentle kiss bringing with it all the warmth of the summer sun, chasing away the last chilly remnants of spring. "Severus." Her hands released his to grasp his cheeks and forced his gaze to her face, filled with tenderness. "That's all I ever wanted." Her hands wrapped around his shoulders as he fell in relief against her, his head against her waist, his arms around her, holding her again, as he had thought he never would again.

She surrounded him, her arms encircling him, her fingers entwined in his hair, twisted and dirty with the sweat and dirt of a long and difficult day, blades of grass from the Quidditch pitch still clinging. She felt the bruises across his shoulders and back, still rising. The day was little more than half over, dust from their duel still hanging in the air, the duel with Parse only hours before. She ran her fingers gently across them, muttering charms to stop the swelling. The release she felt, all those days and nights of doubt and fear, left her as she welcomed him back, the wizard she'd loved, with certainty. Never again would she allow doubt to fill her, nor allow harm to come to him.

"How many of these bruises are from me?" she whispered, counting still more as her hands sought to care for him.

"If I said yours were more than half, would that embarrass you, or make you proud?"

She let out a small snort, but didn't answer, as the question answered itself. Instead, she simply continued her healing.

Her warm touch, casting away the pain from the day, sank deep within him, healing far more than the tension in his muscles. He felt a release of dread, of misery, of emptiness as he heard the strength of her heartbeat and drank in her scent.

He'd been given another chance to prove himself to her. Already his mind stirred with visions of the remainder of the spring. N.E.W.T.s and O.W.L.s were nearly at an end, leaving six weeks before the end of term in June. He would show her how to make the antidote, ask her to teach him about the star map, see what he'd tried to do in her own classes, keep teaching if she needed more time to recover. She could teach here, he would help move her office out of the dungeons, find her warmer private rooms with sunny windows. They could resume their walks (arm in arm) and their visits to the astronomy tower (no warming charm needed now).

Sprout and Longbottom, he would have them make the grounds blossom like never before, perhaps grow desert plants in the greenhouse. The House Elves would need to learn what she liked to eat. He would procure some American wine. He could re-start his Legilimency and Occlumency class, and ask for her help teaching it. He would show her his books in the library and ask to borrow some of hers. Perhaps she would travel and lecture again, now that the danger from Ames was over. He found himself thinking more of the pleasure in their reunion than the loneliness of her absence. He imagined her at the Ministry, with Winder there, and grinned with the smug satisfaction that he had nothing to be concerned about now. She would be brilliant, her reputation would rise, as it should.

He would have Professor Flitwick and Madame Hooch host a spring ball soon, despite his complete aversion to attending. He would claim it was celebrate the end of exams, but the real purpose would be to delight her. The Leaving Feast, the best the school had ever seen, would need to be planned. The end of such a remarkable year would require a remarkable send-off.

And perhaps, if he didn't make a complete fool of himself, on the solstice in June, once the students and the rest of the staff had departed, he would take her on a walk in the afternoon. He had imagined this several times before, when he'd allowed his mind to wander much farther than it should. They would walk to the far side of the lake, with his sample case holding a bottle of goblin wine, French bread, Scottish butter, and Swiss chocolate, in addition to the collection jars. After collecting something rare that he knew would delight her, perhaps Acid-Spitting Snails, he would spread his cloak wide and invite her to join him for a break. Perhaps an Incendio spell to start a small fire, though they wouldn't even need a warming charm. Just after sunset, once she was well-fed and relaxed, he would kneel beside her, drawing a silver ring set with an emerald from his jacket. They would stare at the sky together until the moon rose and the stars came out.

It was possible now, she had agreed to stay. Here she was in his arms, an impossible thought only hours before. Now, anything seemed possible.

Morgan Hunter's thoughts were tumbling like the stones of a rockslide, crashing into one another before being tossed aside as some other thought intruded. Now that she said she would stay, how would things be? What would she do? Was she well enough to resume teaching or did she need more recovery? They hadn't talked about what would happen at the end of the year, but she knew they would have a great deal of time to talk. What did she want out of staying? A job next year? An able research partner? Yes, but her goals were so much larger than simply her career. All those dark nights spent alone, the times she felt herself on the edge of madness, those weren't about a fading career or needing a better paycheck.

As she continued to seek out and heal his injuries, she put her thoughts into two columns, as usual. There were more than enough bruises for her to become frustrated and abandon the exercise, as usual. The next step was clear. She had wasted so much time with indecision, but now she knew with certainty what she was seeing. She knew this wizard, inside and out.

She drew him back up to sit beside her on the bench and held his hand in hers. She ran her fingers over the back of his hand distractedly as she fidgeted, swinging her feet slightly.

"Severus," she began haltingly, looking downward at their intertwined hands.

He turned to her, concern in his eyes. The yellow fringes of his aura intensified. She forged ahead.

"I want to go to Sedona in the summer."

He wasn't surprised that she would want to return to her home, especially given her condition, still weak from Ames's attack. The days here at Hogwarts were getting longer and warmer, but nothing like the desert, as he now knew. She would want to be somewhere more familiar, with her friends who were concerned for her. Perhaps she would heal better there, in the warm, dry air. Her recovery was his most important goal, even if it meant his spending some time alone again.

She winced at his very best "Hogwarts' Headmaster" tone. The consummate professional, even now. "Of course. I hope you don't think you need to request permission. Your summer travel plans are your own business, Morgan."

She smiled. "I want you to come with me."

He smiled back ruefully. "It's very kind of you, Morgan, knowing how very much I wish I could, but the conditions of my sentence won't allow it. You are not yet tenured faculty. Even if I was able to press someone on the staff into service, I would be hard-pressed to claim my travel was for school business."

"Is there any kind of appeals process to the Wizengamot? Might Arboreus request an exception be made?"

"The Wizengamot is not known for their flexibility or mercy, I'm afraid."

She looked up at him, gripped his hand more strongly. "Even for your honeymoon, Severus?"

He held up a hand in protest, shaking his head. "No, not even for…" He stopped an instant later. "What did you say, Morgan?" he said softly.

She grinned. "Your honeymoon, Severus. I want to take you to Sedona on your honeymoon. Will you marry me, Severus Snape, and take your honeymoon with me, in the desert?"

She had allowed herself to imagine this moment before, but never like this. She had hoped they would be travelling together, perhaps to Borealis Hall this past winter. After spending the day lecturing, followed by a dinner with the faculty and staff, she might finally convince him to take a walk alone with her into the cold, snow-drifted hills. Her hair would be put up in traditional whorls on either side of her head. She would point out planets and constellations in the night sky; perhaps the aurora would be present overhead. She would have a wineskin filled with a deep red California wine and put a warming charm on her full, white cloak. She would open a leather pouch she would have tied to her belt and offer him the ceremonial white corn meal she had ground herself and ask him. She hadn't planned on her needing to heal wounds in him she'd caused herself, nor on looking (and feeling) more like someone who needed to go to the Hospital Wing more so than one who had been released from it.

Morgan Hunter made a habit of up-ending all his plans, of defying all his expectations. She had since before they'd even met. This was no exception. He had no objection to her saving him the chance of fouling things up, as was his habit in matters of the heart. Once he'd had a moment to process what she'd said, to see in her eyes that this was not a joke, he gathered her into his lap as he had done so many times before, wrapping his long arms around her small body, his hands finding her shoulders and her neck, drawing her to him, and kissing her. This kiss, however, was unlike any other that had come before it. Completely unburdened by thoughts of her leaving, that she had some ulterior motive, by the inevitable disaster at the end of the year, by the knowledge that she would leave him once she found out about his past. His only thought was "yes," though this was quickly followed by "how soon?"

All her anxieties melted away as she kissed him, drawing him ever closer, tightening her embrace, her exhaustion from the day fading as she relaxed into his arms. When at last they drew apart, she smiled and rested her head against his chest, hearing his heart beating strongly as he rested back against the wall.

"May I take that as a 'yes?'" she asked.

It was so rare that she'd seen him smile, even during their times together before. His expression was typically one of some range from troubled to angry, with brief stretches of concern, irritation, and inquisitiveness in between. His face was transformed.

"You may indeed, my future Mrs. Snape," he replied.

She pulled away from him, an expression of puzzled amusement on her face. "No, Severus."

He looked at her in alarm.

"Would you consent to be Mr. Hunter?" she asked cheekily.

What was she on about?

"I don't know what you mean…" he started angrily.

"I mean, I will be your wife, but I won't be 'Mrs. Snape.' Unless you decide to be 'Mr. Hunter,' that is." It took him a moment to sift through her words. She was joking with him, about names. But she had said again she would be his wife.

"Morgan, be whomever you wish, so long as you'll be my wife," he said desperately, his voice cracking.

"I will be your wife, Severus Snape," she said simply. "Will you be my husband?"

"I will," he said fervently, drawing her lips to his once more. He felt the jolt of electricity just like the night in the forest. She remembered their embrace during the Halloween Ball. Now there were no bluebells, no prying eyes to bring a stop to things, no worries of fortunes to be gained or lost. The softness of her lips was heaven. The silkiness as she ran her fingers through his hair and felt his response. The scent of her filling his nose as he drank it in as though for the first time. The feeling of his bones under his skin as she touched his cheek.

* * *

Hermione and Ron had insisted they accompany Harry when he returned to Slughorn's old classroom to give the Headmaster and Dr. Hunter the update on Janiss's condition.

"They might need a Healer," Hermione had said. "Madame Pomfrey can't be spared, but I already know plenty of healing spells for first-aid at least."

"And I'll cover for you, if they launch hexes at you like last time," added Ginny. Harry didn't bother to explain again that they'd ceased their duel when he had arrived. In fact, he'd gotten the distinct impression that neither of them believed him. Either that, or they wanted to see the spectacle for themselves, at close range. Ron tagged along, too, but at least he made no excuse for himself.

"I'd love to see Snape cast on his rear again," he said, too enthusiastically.

Thankfully, they'd made their plans while in the infirmary. Harry was certain if they'd been in the Common Room or the library, they might have a gang of dozens following them, all wanting to be able to deliver a first-hand report on the sight of Dr. Hunter standing over a defeated Snape. Harry himself felt more than a little trepidation. Seeing Snape on the ground twice today brought back painful memories of finding him after the battle, memories that tended to bring back every other awful part of that time. If he had managed to destroy any relationship with both Deputy Alexander and Dr. Hunter in a single day, he would be perilously close to self-destruction. Harry was sure of that.

This time, Harry approached the classroom cautiously, creeping slowly down the corridor. The door was still open, but no sound came out. Perhaps they had placed a Silencio charm so as not to attract attention from the noise. Harry put a finger to his lips to signal the others to approach cautiously and silently. He gestured for them to line up carefully behind him once they got closer to the door. Ignoring all advice to be cautious, Ron walked up to the door and peeked around it, despite Harry grabbing his arm. Ginny jumped out to protect her brother from the on-coming hexes as Ron gasped.

Rather than turning paler, Ron blushed a deep red and threw himself backward against the door, mouth silently agape. Ginny, too, looked gobsmacked, lowered her wand, and walked back a few paces, blinking her eyes and shaking her head. Hermione rolled her eyes at their theatrics, but couldn't resist for long. She and Harry both peeked carefully around the edge of the door.

"Harry, you are such a rotten joker," she muttered.

For all the things he'd seen today, this was perhaps the most stunning and unexpected yet. The classroom, far from being a battle ground, was filled with the light of the late afternoon sun streaming in through the stained glass windows that glowed with jewel-toned warmth. The new desks, deeply carved with magical plants and creatures, were neatly aligned, the chalkboards filled with some potion or another drawn out, several grade levels of Potions books now lined up, chairs ready for students. Even more unlikely were Snape and Dr. Hunter, engaged in the most passionate kiss Harry had ever witnessed, Dr. Hunter seated across Snape's lap, her hands in his greasy hair, his arms encircling her, pulling her closer.

Harry withdrew quickly back into the hallway. What had he just seen? Had Snape overcome Dr. Hunter in battle after he'd left, captured her? Was he restraining her? He struggled to make sense of the events of the day, but without success. Warily, he allowed a single lens of his glasses to protrude back around the doorframe for another glance. Sure enough, they still looked like something out of a lecture on Love Potions, especially the warnings about the effects of Love Potions that were made too strong. Snape's face had an expression Harry had never seen on it. If he had to guess, he would have said contentment.

Harry withdrew again, pulling Hermione reluctantly from the scene. Ron was still breathing hard and Ginny had some kind of look on her face as she regarded Harry that made him distinctly unsettled. He hoped he wasn't expecting something like that from him. At least, not anytime soon. Hermione looked at him accusingly.

"I thought they were dueling, Harry," she accused him gruffly.

Harry pointed silently to the deep hole marring the wall across from the door, the dislodged chunk of stone still taking up part of the corridor.

"They were. That's the one that missed me."

Everyone looked on open-mouthed.

"I guess they made up," Ron finally said.

'I guess so," Ginny agreed.

"We still need to tell them about Janiss," Hermione said, prodding Harry back towards the door.

Harry really didn't want to intrude, being sure that Snape would jinx him (and probably with accurate aim) for interrupting a moment like this. "Janiss is doing much better, she's regained consciousness, so it's not urgent, right?" he protested to Hermione.

Hermione glared. "She might need more antidote. And both of them will want to know how she's doing. Now, GO Harry."

Harry stood to his full height and straightened his robes. He righted his glasses and smoothed his hair uselessly. He pocketed his wand, then cleared his throat noisily before calling out. "Headmaster, I have an update on Janiss."

* * *

They had heard their observers approach, but didn't care to part too quickly.

"Enter," Snape said, the irritation in his voice by habit belied by the jollity in his eyes as he regarded Morgan.

Harry entered cautiously, the others not far behind him, the lot of them blushing like they'd been caught in some shadowy nook themselves.

Hunter stood, turning her attention to Harry, smoothing her robes. "How is she, Mr. Potter? Did the antidote work as it should?"

Harry nodded, relieved that no hexes or jinxes were coming his way and that Dr. Hunter, at least, didn't seem irritated to see him. Hermione interjected. "It worked wonders, she's already awake."

Hunter looked back at Snape and smiled. Snape stood, brushing dust from his jacket. "She'll need another dose if she's able to swallow." He turned to Hunter and offered her his arm. "Shall we, my love?" She smiled up at him and took the offered arm and departed, his other hand resting on top of hers as though he were afraid she might fall off. With sidelong glances at one another, Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron set off towards the infirmary, still amazed and confused by the sight of the Potions Mistress affectionately on the arm of the Headmaster.


	43. Chapter 43: Drowning Good Intentions

**Happy New Year, patient readers. May peace, health, and prosperity be yours. Thank you all for your kind reviews and faves/follows. This dark time of year is tough to get through, and this year especially. I love the support I get from you all. Just looking at where everyone reading this is from really warms my heart. THANKS! There is more to come in the story, so do stay along for the ride. Cheers, DN**

Hunter and Snape arrived to find Janiss Ames sitting up, still in her school robes, feet dangling sideways off the hospital bed, a scowl on her face. Snape stood back in the shadows that were now gathering as the sun began to set, allowing Hunter to greet her first. Janiss looked away, not meeting anyone's eyes.

"Aunt Morgan," she began. Her defiance gave way to sadness, the tears rolling down her cheeks precluding any further talk. Hunter sat in the chair at the bedside and held her hand wordlessly until the young witch was able to regain control of herself. She rested back on the pillows and stared dejectedly into the distance.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, eyes closing now, pressing out more tears.

Hunter said nothing for a time, the only sound in the room Janiss's raspy breathing. "Was it an accident?" she asked at last.

Janiss mutely shook her head. Hunter closed her eyes in empathetic sadness and held Janiss's hand a little tighter.

"Why?"

Janiss glared at Hunter, angry disbelief springing easily back to her face. Her words came out, spilling one upon another. "I haven't had a mother since I was five. My dad, the criminal and thief, but all I had in the world, especially since he pulled me out of my school where I at least had some friends, is gone, too. He spent every penny he ever made or stole, and more, so now I have nothing. Probably not even money to pay for this rotten school or even to get back home. Everything here is in ruins, so I can't stay. I still have outstanding debt at the Salem Academy, so I can't go back there, either. Dad threw curses at most of the staff there, so I wouldn't get a warm reception even with a sack of gold in my hands. To get even the worst apprenticeship here or in the States, to get a job and make my own money, I'd need recommendations, and that's not too likely, either, given what I've done." Her anger dissolved once again into despair. She hung her head and simply cried openly, her shoulders shaking and heaving.

Hunter tugged at the edge of her robe and conjured a handkerchief from the same fabric and handed it to Janiss. She looked thoughtful for a moment, as the girl wiped away some of her tears and blew her nose loudly. Her paroxysms of sadness began to abate as the warmth and comfort the fabric carried began to reach her. Hunter turned to Snape.

"Headmaster, did you make the antidote that Janiss took?"

Janiss cast a suspicious glance at Snape, clearly displeased that he may have caused her survival.

He nodded, both in agreement with her statement, but also to show he was tracking with her thinking. "I did."

"And you used your blood for it, didn't you?"

"Yes. It's from the same batch as yours."

At this, Janiss could not hold back her disgust. Her lips curled and her stomach churned at the thought.

Hunter turned back to Janiss, purposefully not acknowledging her reaction to this information. "Your future may be brighter than you imagine, Janiss."

She rolled her eyes and rested her head, looking anywhere but Hunter. "Maybe you actually even believe that, Aunt Morgan, but I don't. I don't see what the antidote has to do with anything. I used the Scorpion Venom because there is no antidote and I was sure it was potent. It killed my dad, after all," she finished miserably. "I must not have used enough."

Hunter took Janiss's hand in both of hers. "It means that you have around you love that you don't know about."

Janiss snorted derisively. "Whatever. Once Seamus figured out I jinxed him, he dropped me and told the others. No, I don't even have a boyfriend anymore. I haven't had one since the fall."

Hunter scooted in even more closely. "Not that kind of love. The power of the antidote is only sufficient if person who made it, using their own blood, loves the recipient."

Hunter allowed time for Janiss to think. Not much later, Janiss snapped her head back around and looked at Snape, disgust and disbelief playing alternately across her face.

"No," she said apprehensively, eyes narrowing. "That's not possible. After all the trouble I caused you. I broke the two of you up, got you in trouble with the Ministry, embarrassed you in class."

Hunter looked to Snape, awaiting his reply.

He looked stony, as usual. "Yes, you did. All of those things, and you brought bad publicity to Hogwarts." Hunter's eyes grew wide with apprehension, hearing again the voice belonging to the stern and inflexible Headmaster. Severus' style of drowning any good intentions with criticisms and admonishments was not likely to be understood by a teenage witch. Or even many adults. She only saw through him by seeing his aura over time, and even with that insight doubted him. Was he planning to admonish her at her lowest point? Perhaps she was expecting too much from him and too much from Janiss. "However," he said gravely, stepping out from the gathering shadows. "The actions a person takes are not a complete picture. Why they do things, and under whose command, these also matter. Your father put you up to that...event. Any daughter would find it difficult to refuse the orders of a father like yours. You couldn't have known how things would play out for me. I bear you no ill will, Miss Ames. I had thought I made that clear in class, by treating you no differently after the incident than before. Obviously that was not sufficient to communicate my forgiveness." Hunter very carefully, very silently, breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't exactly warm, but at least it softened somewhat his first words on the matter.

Janiss took in these words, remaining unmoved. She looked back to Hunter. "So I've been forgiven for being a saboteur. Forgiveness isn't the same as love."

Hunter held her hand tighter, leaning in to say something more, when she heard Snape speaking from behind her.

"You are correct, Miss Ames. Forgiveness isn't the same as love, but it is a component of it. As Headmaster of this school and your teacher, I...care...for every student here. As students have no parents here, I act as a kind of father to all of you. Given the effectiveness of the antidote, there must be within me therefore some love for you, though it is like a father's love, not some other kind."

At this, Janiss turned away. Hunter smiled, pleased to hear him say those words, to hear that he was thinking along the same lines as she was, even if his tone lacked any warmth.

"I've forgiven you, too, Janiss, for the same reasons. But you are more to me than only Ethinian's daughter. You are Phillipus' niece, a living link to him. To lose you would be losing the only family I have now, the only living link to him. That may not be something you understand at your age, but for me, losing you would be like losing the last piece of him."

Janiss allowed more tears to flow.

Hunter released her hand and stood. "We will talk more about your future, Janiss, but let me assure you, you aren't alone. I will have a conversation with my lawyer and whoever represents your father's estate. We will get things sorted out. You are my family, Janiss, and I will provide for you." The young witch could not speak, but only stared at Hunter with gratitude and relief in her eyes. Hunter gave a quick pat to her knee. "Now," she said, rising. "It's about dinner time. Let's find you something to eat. You'll also want something to drink to wash down another dose of the antidote. It's effective, but it tastes like a Dementor's Kiss." At this, Janiss was able to muster a weak smile.

Hunter stood and went to seek out someone on the staff to get a meal sent up, leaving Snape alone with Janiss. He eyed the chair just vacated by Hunter, but opted to remain standing. He looked to the windows at the end of the ward, growing dim with the setting sun. Janiss, too, kept her eyes fixed at some distant point, not daring to look at him, this wizard she had wronged so badly. He spoke softly, but not with the dangerous tone she'd learned to associate with his speaking quietly. "Miss Ames, I understand your motives for self-destruction, but I urge you not to give yourself over to despair. Even seemingly hopeless situations can be bent to our favor, given enough time and fortitude. Life is not a simple matter, its problems not tidily solved like in the chapters of a book. Apply the talent and the knowledge that you have to your advantage and nearly any situation can be survived."

Janiss bristled at these words. "You can't possibly _understand_ how I feel, Professor Snape," she shot back. "Everyone always says that, but you don't know what it's like." She surprised herself by her own daring in snapping back at him, and prepared herself for some kind of biting retort as she'd received in so many classes and detentions. What did it matter? Detention, house points, nothing mattered anyway. She continued forward. "You dumped Aunt Morgan months ago, but then duelled for Deputy Alexander just today. Now here you two are, all lovey-dovey again. I don't know what plans you have, but if you hurt her or cheat her for her money, I'll report you to the Ministry of Magic and the newspapers as soon as I possibly can," she hissed.

Snape felt the familiar rise in temper that disrespect kindled in him. He wanted greatly to hex her into silence, then give her a blistering lecture on just how long he'd fought his own self-destruction, just how hopeless his life had seemed, just how horrible the past years, and especially these past months, had been. To somehow shout it into her understanding of how punishing the pain and deaths of students at the hands of the Death Eaters in the war had been on everyone who had survived. That he hoped to never see another student die or be tortured for as long as he lived.

What would Morgan do? How would she handle a brash, insolent witch? His jaw tightened as the questions gave himself time to recall himself at 16: brash, contemptuous of authority, certain of himself. Talented, ready to go beyond the ordinary, but thwarted in learning, forced into the conventional path, his knowledge squeezed aside into margins of a book he had thought only he alone would ever see. Growing more angry and disillusioned by the day as things fell apart around him, despite the efforts of the supposed leaders. Seeking a way, any way, out of a bad situation. Ready to make bad decisions, decisions that would haunt him across the years. It didn't have to be that way for Janiss, indeed not for any other Hogwarts student. Her confusion and suspicion about his relationships with Hypatia and Morgan were, no doubt, shared by most of the staff and students. He breathed out an exasperated sigh and sat beside her.

"Miss Ames, you are correct. I don't understand how you feel. But I have felt angry, alone, afraid, and hopeless. Burdened by the limits placed on me me by virtue of birth and the flaws of the adults around me. Perseverance was only an option if one could see the possibility of change, but not every change was for the better. The change that needed to occur was not always outside me; some of that change needed to happen within me."

He stopped, his expression stony.

"As for my feelings for Dr. Hunter," ho continued slowly, "that is a matter between her and I alone. Should I ever disappoint her, I have no doubt that she will herself will hex me into oblivion. Should I survive, you'll be free to also exert your anger on me."

Janiss still looked away, anywhere but at the Headmaster, trying to make some sense of her current situation. Her efforts had failed, despite using proven Scorpion Venom, thwarted by some new antidote made by Professor Snape, containing some of his blood. The potion needed the blood of someone who loves the person for whom it is made, meaning that Professor Snape loved her, on some level. As a father, he claimed. Certainly she was not worthy of this from him, given what she'd done. She hoped, if it were true, that his "fatherly" love might take some shape different from her own father's love. Perhaps not so full of greed, bitterness, and manipulation. Probably full of sarcasm, criticism, but possibly other things, too. Aunt Morgan had some kind of arrangement in mind for her future, though how that would be, she didn't know. She hadn't considered that Aunt Morgan might think of her as family; they'd only just met and under perhaps the worst of imaginable circumstances. Forgiveness probably didn't mean forgetting everything and going on as though nothing had happened.

That same antidote had also saved Aunt Morgan, though it seemed the love he had for her was not of the fatherly sort. She cast a sidelong glance at the Headmaster, who, thankfully, was looking down the ward towards where Aunt Morgan had disappeared, his expression troubled and pensive, yet somehow softer than she'd seen him before in class or his office. Despite being such a strict and unforgiving teacher, he'd found some way to forgive her. Perhaps she might find a way to forgive herself. And then to persevere. Her future wouldn't be easy; her past hadn't been either. She would have to find the strength somehow to overcome the life her father had created for her, to create a life of her own. It would take time, Professor Snape was probably right about that. She would try to keep going, if not for herself, then for Aunt Morgan, both of them wronged by Ethinian Ames. She would defy him, overcome him, simply by living. A new determination, to create her own story no longer under the repressive control of her father, welled up within her. She would be defiant, defiantly strong, for herself and for Aunt Morgan.

Hunter returned, a House Elf trailing her with a tray of steaming soup with spring peas, roasted chicken, a baked potato dripping with Scottish butter, and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. She sized up the scene as she approached, both the witch and wizard scowling, arms crossed, not looking at one another. Whatever had been said (or not said) in her absence hadn't gone well, though their auras were not those of anger or resentment. Hunter saw within them both nobility, with a sparkle of hope and determination in Janiss. Perhaps it had gone as well as was possible, given the circumstances and the personalities involved.

The warm, steamy scent of food reminded Hunter painfully that she had eaten only one meal in several days' time and was famished beyond belief. Her attention had been taken up entirely by things other than her stomach all day, but now her mind was at rest enough to notice pangs of deep hunger. Once she was certain Janiss was eating and comfortable, she rose.

"Perhaps we, too, would benefit from dinner, Severus," she said, laying a gentle hand on his arm, a gesture not missed by Janiss's watchful eye. Janiss threw Snape a warning glare, to which he responded with an almost imperceptible nod. "Before I go, Janiss, I need your promise that you won't do anything or make any decisions before we have a chance to talk. I'm not fully recovered myself, so I need time, but I will come up with a plan to help you and support your future. Will you make me that promise?"

Hunter reached out a hand to Janiss, who took hers. "Yes, Aunt Morgan. I promise." Hunter breathed a sigh of relief and said her goodnights, leaving only with the assurance from Madam Pomfrey that Janiss would continue to be observed, although it seemed that she was well on the way to a full recovery.

Once in the hall outside the Infirmary, Hunter turned to Snape. "I need a moment to freshen up, I'm in no condition for the Great Hall." Glamor Charms were not her greatest talent, but at least a Clean-up Charm would help a bit. The dust flew from her robes, her hair rebraided itself, and the smudges were removed from her face. Once she was done, she looked expectantly at Snape. After a moment's hesitation, he concluded that a witch like Morgan Hunter should be accompanied only by a wizard worthy of her. He'd never bothered to develop any skills in Glamor Charms and wondered if he should allow her to work her magic, then decided he'd be best off attempting to handle this himself so as not to ask for her effort on his behalf. He dismissed the dust and dirt from his clothes, removed the sweat and dirt from his face and hands, then attempted some kind of cleansing of his hair. At least the visible grass and dirt came out. Anything further would require more effort and practice. For her, he would do so, though where he might seek advice or instruction was less clear. Lockhart's book hadn't been useful up to now, but perhaps on these matters…

Once Hunter nodded her approval, they set off.

* * *

Later that evening, after enjoying a restorative and amusing dinner in the Great Hall, purposefully and smugly ignoring the stares and whispers of both the students and staff as they entered together, arm in arm, Snape and Hunter relaxed in the Headmaster's office, sharing a bottle of wine and a number of kisses. She rested in his lap, her ear against his shoulder, his robes draped around her shoulders, as though no time had passed since the fall.

There were so many conversations he wanted to begin. How soon could they marry? Where? What would the arrangements for Janiss be? Would she want to work here or return to Sedona? There were so many questions, but the hour was drawing late. He would need to oversee the final day of exams tomorrow, despite having little sleep the night before.

Snape set his glass aside.

"Morgan," he began, not yet able to meet her eyes, instead looking up to the portraits on the walls. "These past few months, trying to live without you and failing so badly, I'm so sorry." He decided to simply tell her everything, apologize for how much he'd hurt her. She gave him all the time he needed to speak. It pleased him that she was listening and not interrupting, as had been her usual habit, to interject some idea of her own, that she seemed to sense how important it was to him that he tell her these things, so that she would understand more. He glanced down to gauge her reaction.

Her head rested on his shoulder, as it had for those pleasant times they'd shared before. Those times he thought he'd lost forever, memories tainted by worries of her deception and their eventual dissolution at the end of the school year, or when she found about his past, whichever came first. Her eyes were now firmly closed, her breathing slow and regular, her mouth hanging slightly open.

He grimaced, but concurred. It had been a long and exhausting day for both of them. She wasn't yet fully recovered. Neither was he, for that matter. Madam Pomfrey's Blood Builder was helping, but not yet fully effective.

Rather than wake her, he wrapped her more fully in his robes and held her a little bit closer, amazed at having the privilege of holding this wonderful witch in his arms. She knew what he was, and yet still, here she was, and had asked to be so forever.

Before the hour became unseemly, and after it was likely that most, if not all, students would have cleared from the corridors into their common rooms or the library to prepare for the final day of N.E.W.T. and O.W.L. exams, he lifted her and turned his feet toward the Hospital Wing. He had no interest in the Healer lecturing him about her need to further recover before she declared her released. He also had no interest in the resultant rumors should he be seen near her private chambers at this time of the evening.

Strangely, the halls outside his office were unusually lively for this time of evening, students milling about aimlessly, all carrying books and quills, yet obviously not walking to or from the library, instead leaning against walls and talking in groups. Their voices dropped to silence as he and Morgan, still sleeping like a rock, emerged from the Headmaster's office. As he strode wordlessly past them, the mostly slack-jawed boys, the swooning girls, his glare alone was sufficient to cause instant, yet curiously quiet, scattering of students in every direction, except towards the library.


	44. Chapter 44: Plans

**Good day, readers. I hope you enjoy this chapter, a nice long one. More to come, stay with me.**

 **Also, I noted a decent number of faves/follows. I hope you'll be brave enough to offer a review. They are much appreciated. Distant early warning, once I finish (I can see the light at the end of the tunnel), I'll ask for ideas on where to go next, so get your thoughts in gear.**

 **Enjoy! -DN**

Thursday had felt like more than a week packed into one day. Friday, instead, passed too slowly, as he knew it would. Pacing the rows of students agonizing over the afternoon's O.W.L.s in Astronomy and Arithmancy, hands clasped behind him, his sharp eyes scanned for stray glances, extra bits of parchment, or any use Vanishing Ink on hands or wrists. The sound of quills scratching desperately combined with the scents of nearly year-old, bordering-on-rancid ink and student anxiety did not please the Headmaster nearly as much as they had in previous years, given that they signaled both discomfort, as well as the approaching completion of the school year and a return to silent halls and quiet grounds. That this was the last session of O.W.L.s for the year did please him. Though his watchful eyes were on the students, his mind was far from the Great Hall. The weekend, for so long filled with a toxic combination of desperate study and draining experiments, school business, and sleepless nights, now could not arrive soon enough. Morgan had not come to breakfast in the morning, leaving him alternating between certainty that she was fine, an incredibly strong witch, her recovery assured, and recalling that his was a novel antidote and its effects not fully known at all. Janiss Ames' recovery was another story, her overall strength and power less known.

Lunch had been spent in conference with Professor Flitwick and Madam Hooch, at which he requested their help planning the post-exam celebration. Their somewhat dubious stares required him to insist that he was serious and to reiterate that his expectations were high. He hadn't told Morgan about his plans, but his promise to himself was sufficient to require follow-through. For perhaps the first time since his first year at Hogwarts, he might possibly be looking forward to a school ball. He instantly discarded that ridiculous thought. He would endure the event only for her sake, he reminded himself.

At long last, Professor Vector rang the bell that signalled the end of the exam period. Snape barked "Immobulus," halting every quill in the room, followed by fruitless groans of protest. He strode the room, collecting exams, releasing quills, and shooing students back to their commons rooms, outside, wherever, just out of here so he was freed to visit the Infirmary. His perceptive ears overheard choice bits of conversations as students filed out the doors into the noisy halls filled with friends likewise liberated from exams and planning raucous times of the weekend.

"I heard a rumor that he also dueled Professor Hunter and lost that, too." "Why would he do that if he'd just battled for Alexander? Things never make any sense around here." "She doesn't seem like some who'd play second wand." "They came into dinner together, too. He looked all greasy, like usual, and she was dressed in some weird old blue and yellow get-up instead of the fancy things she usually wears. I have no idea." "He's in a bad mood because he lost that duel yesterday. I'm surprised he's even here, he was knocked on his…" Snape cleared his throat loudly, causing fifth-year legs to suddenly sprint towards the Entrance Hall, none of them even looking backward over their shoulders to see the Headmaster's steely glare.

Once he and Vector certified the exams to the observers, he made a beeline out the door himself. Being the subject of student speculation and rumor was inevitable at this point, he thought resignedly. The staff had been professional enough thus far not to inquire as to the happenings of the previous day, although Madam Hooch had asked rather pointed questions about the timetable for repairs to the Quidditch pitch and stands over breakfast. Her questions ceased when he began asking her to draw up a budget for improvements to the Quidditch and overall Athletic Department for the coming year. The rest of the staff simply observed and smirked, a response which was nearly as vexing as Madam Hooch's.

He needn't have hurried, as Morgan stood waiting in the Entrance Hall. He nearly collided with her and in doing so, attracted unwanted attention from the mob gathered there. All eyes were suddenly upon him, a condition he detested outside the classroom or lecture hall.

"What would students such as yourselves be doing inside on a day like this?" he growled. "Out with the lot of you, before I think of something else for you to get up to!"

The students, looking stunned, needed no further encouragement and scattered in any direction away from the Headmaster, but mostly towards the doors out to the warmth of the sunny afternoon.

He turned his attention to Hunter. "Dr. Hunter, you are looking well this afternoon," he said evenly, subverting his desire to sweep her into his arms. Public decorum must be maintained.

Hunter quickly erased her own stunned expression to the delighted one she'd worn on her walk to the Great Hall from the Hospital Wing. "Thank you, Headmaster. Madam Pomfrey has released me, though she still wants to see me for 'routine monitoring' once a day," she replied brightly. The smile she cast at him could warm the coldest and longest Highland winter night.

"You must be doing exceedingly well, as Madam Pomfrey is never one to release patients before she is fully certain of their recovery. And Miss Ames?"

Hunter was pleased at his concern for his future niece. "She'd doing well, from a physical standpoint." A cloud of concern now covered her face. "She will need far more than only your antidote to be fully whole again."

Snape began to suggest Pepper-Up potion, or perhaps a sleeping draught, but thought the better of it before the words slipped from his mouth. He recalled Professor Trelawney's technique. As effective as they were, Miss Ames would require a deeper healing. Instead, he said only "There is much we need to discuss, of Miss Ames and many other matters. Perhaps a turn outside in the sun would be a better choice for now. We can begin our business after dinner," he said, offering his arm.

Hunter's mood brightened visibly. "Yes, let's do."

Snape and Hunter took pains to neither notice the students backing away from the paths and onto the grass rapidly as they passed, nor to hear the buzz of rumors beginning. Feeling the glow of the sun on her face for the first time in so long, the softness of the ground beneath her feet, and the warmth of her lover beside her filled her with a tranquility she hadn't felt in more than a year. Once she returned to her rooms, she would rip up the letters she'd written to her friends before and send new ones, telling them to expect a wedding invitation soon. And Hania, she would need to write to him as soon as possible, possibly tonight. She could never consider herself truly married if he didn't perform the traditional ceremonies. They could be married as soon as the Sedona school ended for the year, which would be mid-May. There would be a few weeks' break until the solstice after which the summer session of night classes began for those who wanted extra instruction in Astronomy or Magical Creatures. Perhaps she would be there on her honeymoon by then. The thought filled her with delight.

Snape winced against the harsh assault from the sun. Their time in the fall was during the cold and dark season, when staying indoors was much preferred. She would want more time outside this season. He would need to adjust after his long isolation and time spent largely in the dungeons. He'd need to mix up some sun salve, lest his face and hands redden, as well. He resisted the urge to begin the discussion of their marriage, or her job, or any of the other pressing matters they faced, and instead simply remained silent, taking in the scents of the spring flowers, her perfume, the sunlight on the lake, the tentacles of the giant squid surfacing from time to time to bask in the warmth, and the caress of the breeze on his face. His irritation with prying students, the mountain of school business he faced, and the decisions to be made for Harry (and now Janiss, as well) faded, replaced with enjoyment of this moment.

Now the day which had seemed interminable earlier raced ahead. The sun set too quickly, signalling the approach of dinner. Afterward, they retired to his office, to begin the discussions.

Hunter felt a combination of excitement and dread. They should get to making plans, but there were so many things to settle and arrange. She wished they could simply enjoy their time together, like in the fall, with little pressing need to discuss the difficult, complicated parts of life. She recalled their discussions of her travel schedule, their approach to the experiments, and their writings, and remembered both how complex that was, and how difficult. Perhaps these plans would be easier to execute.

There were disagreements from the start. He wanted to marry as soon as possible, perhaps next weekend or the one after that. They were required to provide time for the announcement to go out, followed by calls for anyone to whom they owed money or who objected to the union to step forward. Once their financial documents could be written up and a contract written, they could have a small private ceremony overseen by Arboreus Hobble and a priestess he knew, without fuss or a spectacle. He conceded that Harry and Janiss might also attend.

She, too, wanted a small ceremony, but at least attended by close friends, in mid-May, once they and Hania could come. She wanted the colors to be white and turquoise. He couldn't have cared less about colors, as long as he wasn't required to wear anything different. Even a small gathering required at least a banquet of some kind. He grimaced at the thought of being the object of speculation amongst strangers he'd just met, knowing nothing of their talents, powers, or lineages. He didn't know anything about what kind of ceremony she had in mind, but suspected it would be very different from the few British weddings he'd attended. He wondered who would qualify as his "close friends," if anyone.

Hunter was becoming irritated with his objection or modification to every notion she put forward. It wasn't as though she were asking for the entire Magical community from both sides of the ocean to attend, nor to request a particularly long engagement. She had hoped he would at most be indifferent as to the wedding itself, knowing he wouldn't want a large party atmosphere. She hadn't expected his having so many opinions, and his obvious growing irritation. Perhaps a change of topic was in order. Surely the honeymoon planning would be more agreeable...

Their trip would have to be delayed, of course. He would need to inform Mr. Hobble not only of their wedding plans, but also to request his attempt to sway the Wizengamot, after which there was the trouble of the cost. Regardless of what personal freedom he might be granted, his poverty would limit his travel plans. She was dismayed. They hadn't even gotten to discuss what sights she wanted to share with him before the ugly truth of money cropped up. She felt it useless to talk about the wonders of the desert before they could even figure out how it would be paid for.

Hunter finally called off any further serious discussions for the evening, chalking up their friction to being tired after such a long week. Perhaps Saturday would be better. She would write to Hania and her friends and he would arrange for Hobble to visit Monday. In the meantime, she settled herself beside him on the sofa, wondering where things would go now.

* * *

Saturday morning, as Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and the rest filed out of the Great Hall after breakfast to ready themselves for a Hogsmeade visit, Harry felt the strong grip of his godfather resting on his shoulder. Blasting bludgers, why was it that Severus Snape couldn't simply say something to him or send him a small parchment, but instead needed to use such literally heavy-handed techniques to get his attention?

"Before you leave, I'd like a word with you in my office, Harry, if you can spare a moment."

Harry looked with some surprise at Snape. He couldn't recall not being called "Mr. Potter" in the presence of others ever nor could he recall an invitation sounding like anything other than a direct order.

Harry waved off his friends. "Of course, Headmaster. We can go now, if that suits you." Snape gave a curt nod to Ron, Hermione and Ginny as he and Harry departed. Once seated, Harry noticed the rather uncomfortable look on Snape's faced and noted his hesitancy in beginning.

"If this is about my spying on you and Dr. Hunter, I apologize," Harry began. Snape waved away his words.

"No, Harry, that's fine. I'm sure your motivation, and that of your friends, was solely in the interest of communicating the status of Miss Ames," he said sardonically. "There is more you should know, as my godson."

Harry gripped the armrests of his chair, preparing himself for any imaginable news. They were getting married and Snape would be shortly leaving to live in the U.S. Harry's N.E.W.T. scores had come back too low to qualify for Fellbridge, erasing his hope of being an Auror, not to mention Fellbridge was close to the training camp for the Chudley Cannons, from whom Ginny had gotten an offer to join. Covenhall would be filled by now. He would have to begin an apprenticeship in Potions with either Snape or the apothecary in town. His graduation would be further delayed for another year until he passed the minimum required. Or worse, he had passed, and the Dursleys had accepted an invitation from Snape to attend his Hogwarts graduation. The possibilities were endless and each one seemed worse than the next. Harry shifted in his seat, as even worse thoughts began. Snape was ill in some way (he had seemed uncharacteristically weak of late). Perhaps a late effect from Nagini. The Death Eaters were on the rise again, and Snape was too weak to fight them. The Ministry of Magical Education was removing Snape following the assault on the Minister of Magical Education, replacing him with Dolores Umbridge again. He rubbed his hand unconsciously.

Snape leaned forward, his hands clasped on his desk. "Harry, I don't want to delay you any more than necessary, but, as my godson, I feel you deserve to know a few things." Harry braced for the worst. "Dr. Hunter has asked me to marry her and I accepted. We are to be married as soon as a mutually agreeable date can be determined."

Harry sat wide-eyed and slack-jawed for far too long. It took Harry a moment, then two, to fully grasp what Snape was saying. Once he'd recovered somewhat, he stood and offer his hand.

"Congratulations, Severus! That's amazing." Snape shook his hand and allowed a small uncomfortable grin to emerge.

"Thank you, Harry. I am exceedingly pleased myself. As my godson, I'll need you to be witness to the event, as well as to be informed as to the changes this will make to my estate, such as it is."

Harry smiled apprehensively. "Of course, sir. I wouldn't miss it."

"Draco Malfoy and his family may also attend. I hope that won't be an issue."

"Of course not, sir." He wondered idly what Draco had been doing with his time since his defection at the end of the war.

"It will be a small ceremony with only close friends, most likely in mid-May once Dr. Hunter's friends from the Sedona School have ended their term and are free to come."

"I don't have any plans to be away, sir," Harry noted.

"It was further noted to me by my future wife that the 'colors' for the wedding are to be white and turquoise. I have no idea what that means, but I have assured her that I won't be making any changes to my current wardrobe, the single point on which she did not argue with me. You may, however, need the information."

Harry gave Snape an incredulous look. "I do hope you are joking, sir," he said admonishingly.

Snape replied only with a glare.

"You need not get yourself turquoise robes, sir, but you ARE getting married. Wearing the same thing you wear every day would be an insult to her, an insult to the day itself. Not a good way to start a marriage, if you don't mind my saying."

"I do mind, very much. I suggest you keep such opinions to yourself. My personal attire is not what I brought you here to discuss." Now he sounded like the Snape Harry was accustomed to. Commanding and inflexible. Harry decided it was time for a change. Either he'd passed his N.E.W.T.s or not, but the college applications were signed. Snape no longer had as much hold over him as before.

"Severus, it's time you took some advice, wizard to wizard," Harry started, trying to remain conversational, rather than confrontational. "Dr. Hunter is an amazing witch, really incredible. I have no idea how you managed to get a marriage proposal from her. I am not the world's foremost expert in love or romance, but even I know that a wizard should show his respect for his girlfriend, fiancee, or wife by not only being a good man, but also by taking some care after himself. Merlin's beard, man! It's her wedding day, one day! If you can't make that special for her, just by wearing new clothes and maybe getting a haircut, what else won't you do? Do you suppose marriage means you get to just go on living like you have been all these years and she's just there to grin and meet you in the evenings, should you care for some company?"

"Harry, watch your tongue!" Snape spat.

Harry didn't allow himself to be pulled into rising tempers. "Don't be a fool, Severus. You don't have a clue about what this means. Even dating, you have to give something of yourself to other person, just as they give of themselves for you. But a witch worth dating or marrying is worth those small sacrifices. Believe me, there will be far larger ones in the future, and you'll have to navigate those together. If you can't manage to plan your wedding together, how will you manage when someone wants to change jobs, or gets sick, or wants a family? This is just the beginning, Severus. What if the Minister of Magical Education has you sacked and you have no job and no money at all?"

"The Minister of Magic won't be sacking me any time soon, Harry," Snape said smoothly.

"You were already on thin ice with him, then you duelled him in front of more than 150 witnesses! Clearly Dr. Hunter has forgiven you, but I doubt he will, nor the Ministry."

"It's interesting that you say that, Harry, as I have received a note from him just this morning." Snape held up a rather elaborate parchment scroll, sealed with a black and silver ribbon and green wax. "I don't even need to open it to know I am not being sacked. Far from it. Open it and read it to me, Harry," Snape said coolly.

"It's addressed to you, Severus, I'd rather not pry." On closer inspection Harry noted that it did not look like official Ministry communication.

"Your attempt at proper manners is charming, Harry. Open it and read it to me," he repeated.

Harry took the scroll, worked off the wax and ribbon, and began reading the large decorative script.

" _Hypatia Theona Helen Alexander_

 _and_

 _Paracelsus Theophrastus Bombastus Winder_

 _joyously announce their engagement and extend an invitation to you and a guest to attend their wedding ceremony to take place on_

 _Saturday, May 8th_

 _at noon_

 _at the British National Magical Botanical Gardens._

 _Reception to follow on site._

 _Please wear appropriate footwear and inform yourself as to the nature of the specimens in the Botanical Gardens. Healers and Potioneers with antidotes will be readily available on site, should you or your guest be so unfortunate as to require them."_

Harry considered stopping reading here where the formal script ended, but decided against it. He began to read the parts written in another, more casual hand in the margin.

" _My dearest Severus, you were amazing. Our debt is settled and you are released. Parse has already agreed to my request that he cease the investigation, which means I won't be visiting anymore. A pity which can't be helped, as entertaining as those visits were. I'm sure you'll find other ways to amuse yourself. I have. Hope you can make it to the ceremony, as the gardens have a lot to interest a Potioneer like yourself. I'll look forward to greeting your guest, as well. Best regards, Hypa."_ All it lacked as a little heart to dot the i's or around her signature.

Harry had expected Snape to snatch the parchment from him at any moment and set fire to it, but he simply reclined with smug satisfaction. Harry placed the scroll back on the desk, wondering what it all meant. Had he, in fact, had some kind of affair with the Deputy Minister? She referred to "entertaining visits." Harry had thought they were about Snape's probation and the incident with Janiss Ames. Using a nickname, too. Very familiar of her.

"I didn't lose that duel, Harry. I won, and so did Hypatia Alexander. Nothing stirs a middle-aged wizard into action like jealousy."

Harry began to cotton on. "You set him up, so he felt he'd won her as a hard-earned prize? Did you owe some debt to Hypatia? She even called him off the investigation for you, she was so pleased. Good grief, Severus, you need to find something else to do with your mind. You've turned from defeating Voldemort to defeating the Minister of Magical Education."

Snape snorted. "Defeating the Minister of Magical Education took precious little of my wits to accomplish, Harry," Snape said smugly.

"Unlike Dr. Hunter." Once he realized what he had said, Harry wished he could sink into the floor or fade into the stone walls.

Snape raised his eyebrows, but remained contemplative. "Indeed, Harry, indeed. That took every bit of what wit I have." Snape felt the small remains of the daemon stirring within him. _But do you have the wits to keep her? She can still back out at any time and you are so very adept at snatching defeat from the jaws of victory._

Snape rose, signaling the conversation was at an end. "I don't wish to disappoint your friends, Harry, who are no doubt suffering from your absence. I'll let you know when a date is set. You may go."

Harry rose, as well, and extended his hand. "Congratulations, sir. She's amazing. Make her happy, Severus." With that, he turned towards the marble staircase. Turning back, he expected to see the Headmaster break out some parchments and begin working or at least appear contented, but instead, he only looked troubled, muttering to himself words Harry could't hear. There was nothing further to say, so he left, pleased to be the first to spread the good, if nearly unbelievable, news about the Headmaster and Dr. Hunter.

* * *

After her visit with Janiss in the morning and convincing Poppy to let her go under the same daily monitoring conditions she was to follow, Hunter was able to persuade Janiss to join the Hogsmeade visit. A few Ravenclaw girls were with her, welcoming her back with hugs and concern, which quickly dissolved into making plans for the first Hogsmeade visit with decent weather. Which shops? Which treats? Which boys? Hunter was pleased at the normalcy of it all and hoped it set Janiss on a fresh path. Perhaps they would talk about their plans for the future and help Janiss start to picture her own with more clarity.

The sun and fresh air would help, as well as a new scarf she'd made her from the Solarium fabric. She'd suggested a blouse instead, but Janiss balked at the overly bright colors. It was too warm to cover with a sweater. She offered a Chromodelta charm to change the colors, but Janiss suggested a scarf as a compromise, to which she'd readily agreed. Some kind of healing warmth was what she'd needed and a scarf would be enough.

Now it was time to seek out Severus and take on more of their difficult discussions. She needed to remind herself that his temperament was like that of the Potions they'd made together: difficult, but worth it. That didn't make her look forward to talking with him about money and the wedding, but it did make her look forward to the future, at least, once they'd gotten past these small bits of unpleasantness. She muttered the password (Baneberry) and mounted the spiral stairs. He was already there to greet her, bending down to kiss her nearly before she gotten off the stairs. She melted, feeling a bit weak in the knees, grasping his shoulders to remain on her feet.

"Good morning, my love." The earnestness in his voice made her wonder if he, too, had worried over night, given the difficulty of the evening before.

"Good morning, Waquini," she replied. It just slipped out. He cast her a questioning look. "It's a term of affection in my native language."

"What does it mean?"

 _He never lets anything slip past him._ "It's something like good-looking or sweetheart." Which was almost true.

He did not look completely convinced, but smiled ruefully, knowing she wouldn't be able to keep her secret for long. "I trust Miss Ames is well. Did Poppy release her today?"

At this, Hunter beamed. "Yes, she seems back to 100%, Severus. Your antidote worked well. Poppy released her and she felt well enough to go to the village, which should do wonders for her, as well."

"And you, Morgan. How are you feeling? Fully healed?" He drew her hand to his mouth for a kiss.

"Yes, very nearly so. I nearly overslept breakfast, but otherwise I am doing well. I plan to start teaching again Monday, if you have time to tell me where the students are at since my time away."

Severus muttered a Fenestrata spell and conjured two comfortable chairs by the open window. The fresh air and sunlight cheered the room as never before. The portraits of prior headmasters, at least those not already vacated to sunnier frames, stirred and took in this novelty. Sitting, Hunter smiled as he brought her up to date on her classes, noting which he'd taught himself and which he'd had 7th- and 8th-year students conduct. He mentioned how advanced her students were.

"Had you expected otherwise?" she asked tartly.

"Of course not," he said dismissively, though she knew better. "Given the success of your teaching style, I have attempted to apply some of it to my own students. Rather than having detentions serve as cleaning time, I have allowed those unfortunate students to attempt the potion a second time before assigning an additional detention for the purpose of cleaning." Seeing the disapproval in her face, he paused only a moment. "Actually, I have allowed them class time for the second attempt. Having error-prone students serving detentions no longer suits me, nor does it seem to influence student performance in any obvious positive fashion. Also, I have other things I prefer to do with my evenings." At this, she smiled, recalling the nights he spent at her bedside as she silently flexed her muscles and prepared to escape.

She noted a fleeting moment of hesitation cross his face and wondered what he'd tell her next.

"Morgan, I hope I haven't intruded overmuch." He squared himself and looked at her directly, resting his elbows on his knees. "When I was preparing your lessons, I needed to visit your office, to see what you planned to teach. I saw Phillipus' star map." He hesitated. Was he about to ask too much? The daemon voice spoke again. _Just like with the Legilimency, you think you need to know everything. Go ahead and ask. She'll be thrilled to talk to you about her dead husband after you were nosing around in her office while she was unconscious._ "What does it mean?"

Morgan Hunter stared at him, looking disturbed. Then the look passed. "It's beautiful, isn't it? It was his last work. It's a map that shows the relationship between the star positions, the seasons, and the most powerful times to harvest certain ingredients. He made it as a planning calendar for me." Here she stood up and started pacing. "Who on your staff draws well? We could make one for Britain, work with Sinistra on it." She summoned a parchment and began writing feverishly, making a rough drawing of how her star map worked and beginning to plan one for here. She began to become out of breath in her excitement. "Emmeline Vance can draw, I've seen her classroom drawings. Will they stay at Hogwarts for the summer? But we will be gone on our honeymoon. I'll take the map with us and show you how it works there. Maybe once we get back in the fall we can create the one for Britain. We could publish this, Severus, and share it. Maybe I can make prints of Phillipus' map, too, to share his brilliance, to let him live a little bit more. Do you know a good printer we could work with? We can offer to create them when we travel for my lectures, one for France, Iceland, Bulgaria, Boston...This will be a great addition to Potions literature and teaching tools."

He was nearly out of breath himself. It was already all planned. He only needed to find a printer. Scrivenshaft would know. He'd send an owl on Monday. By then, she would probably have decided on the parchment weight, ink colors, first edition numbers, and costs. All that would remain would be the design and drawing. If he mentioned this Hogsmeade shop now, she'd probably depart immediately and put in a future order.

He grinned slightly. "I am pleased that you are not overly upset at my intrusion."

"Of course not, how else would you have taught?"

Indeed. It was time to move on. "We also need to discuss the wedding further." He noted her brow furrowing. "Can we create a ceremony that will honor both of our traditions?" The furrow of her brow vanished, a smile spreading over her face.

"Of course, that would be lovely. How about…" She drew forth a second parchment and began writing. He added a few suggestions, which she incorporated. In no time at all, they had an agreement. She stood back and admired their work. What a difference a day made, or perhaps a good night of sleep.

After a satisfying lunch taken on the lawn and a short walk, they returned.

"Have you decided how to assist Janiss? What are her future plans? She has not come to me with college applications to sign or recommendations to make."

"That's not surprising, given all that's gone on. I'm sure her career planning didn't include an attempt to destroy the Headmaster's reputation. At this point, I haven't discussed anything with her. I suspect any future she pictured involved being in the U.S., rather than here. I'll try to encourage her to stay."

"She may be able to work with a Potioneer I know in Hogsmeade, Marcus Belby, until she can get her plans in order. Cloakreth has a creditable Potions graduate program. It would be surprising if she didn't attend a college, but with her talent, she may be able to succeed with a skillful mentor like Marcus. Hogwarts may even have the budget for a teaching assistant, but that will take some study. Professor McGonagall and I have not yet fully planned what to do with our surprising windfall."

Morgan smiled. "I'd like to keep her close, if she agrees. She will need family nearby and an aunt and uncle are all she has."

Uncle. He would be her uncle. He would have a niece. First he needed to learn to be fatherly, then husbandly, now as an uncle. His family, once nonexistent, was growing rather quickly. "She will also have a cousin in Harry, in a manner of speaking, as he is my godson." Morgan smiled at his acceptance of his role in Janiss' life. "The best we can do is find options for her and hope she takes one. She is of age and can make her own decisions, but with no money to speak of, she will find herself with many limitations."

"Which brings me to my next point, Severus. I assume that our marriage will join our fortunes and hence whatever I amass above 20,000 galleons will also be confiscated."

Snape closed his eyes and gripped the bridge of his nose. He had wanted to delay this revolting conversation until some other day, some day that wasn't as lovely as this one, but there was no point in putting it off. He exhaled and braced himself. "That is correct. Harry was allowed to keep his fortune as he is now of age and was when we were Bound. However, should I ever find myself in debt again, he will be obliged to pay for me. Likewise, you and I will be limited, for at least 49 years. Hobble will need to request a statement from the Wizengamot as to precisely what they will allow for my wife (assuming they did not plan on this contingency), but I suspect it will be harshly limited. Hogwarts meets my needs and I am sure we can work out conditions for you, as well. Our travel, if it can be arranged at all, will be modest. It's not likely that you'll be able to visit Madam Malkin any time soon. I know how much fashion means to you."

Morgan snorted. "Fashion? Madam Malkin played me for a fool. I didn't have a thing to wear for this climate. I told her I needed a wardrobe of whatever it was that witches wore here and she did the rest. I had no idea her choices would be so much fancier than anyone wears here, but by the time I figured that out, it was a little late to return anything. I actually planned to give away everything once I left. I like my desert robes better, especially the old ones. They have personality."

Snape took all this in, pleased that she might not be quite as focused on appearances as he'd though. And also pleased that this might be one aspect of their marriage that might not be burdensome to her, such as the location and the poverty. "I see. Of course I respect your choices for what you wear, but I do rather favor a few of the items Madam Malkin picked out. For the winter, of course, only when your other things aren't appropriate."

She grinned. "Such as...?"

On anyone else, his slight blush might have gone unnoticed, but on his pale cheeks, she saw his color rise. "There is a green robe that is quite striking, and one that is dark blue. And a purple cloak. It has a hat that goes with it."

"The dress from the Halloween Ball?"

Remembering her lovely red gown, the way it brushed the floor, her feet peeking out from beneath it, how stunning she'd been as she entered the Great Hall, the texture of the silk beneath his fingers as he'd embraced her on the terrace. "Ah, yes. That, too," he said distantly.

"I'll plan on keeping those, then, if you like them so much."

He snapped back to the moment. "Whatever suits you, my dear." His attempt at feigned indifference failed. "You look lovely even after a duel." From any other wizard, she would have laughed at such an absurd assertion, would have seen it as nothing more than comical flattery. From him, however, she knew it was true.

"I'll be sure to purchase my wardrobe before our marriage, then. Do you need anything? Am I permitted to give you gifts?"

Snape was confused. "Where will you get the money? Your salary at the moment is paltry and you've given the school your entire fortune."

"I gave you all I had at the time, but I've earned some money in the meantime."

"Perhaps you can see to telling your future husband more about your personal finances," he stated flatly, his eyes belying his interest in the topic.

"I own crystal mines in Sedona, some of the most productive in the world. They continue to produce, so I continue to have a steady income. My plans for now are to place them in trust for Janiss, until we can figure out how to manage them under the terms of your sentencing. It is possible that the Ministry of Magic will get their payoff after all."

At this thought, Severus growled his disapproval. "I can already see the wheels turning as you plan to avoid that."

"I don't care about the money, Morgan, it's about them not abusing their power to enrich themselves!"

"I know, I know," she said reassuringly. "We can speak with Mr. Hobble and my lawyer next week and see what it possible."

"Not that I care, but how much income are you receiving," he asked, feigning indifference.

"About 50,000 galleons a month."

He nearly choked at this enormous sum. "Perhaps you might do me the favor of sending a few of those galleons to Mr. Hobble. I find myself rather indebted to him. Perhaps before we marry and your fortune vanishes into the Ministry of Larceny."

Hunter grinned. "I'd be delighted to."

"About your job," he said smoothly, as though he hadn't just learned about his future wife's remarkable financial situation. "I am delighted to offer you a permanent position, tenure track if I can get it approved by the Board, as the Head Potions Mistress for Hogwarts, supported by your junior colleague, one Severus Snape, and possibly a teaching assistant if I am able to find an apprentice so desperate as to join the staff of a school set in the frigid Scottish Highlands."

Hunter looked at him incredulously. "Really, Severus? You'd step down?"

So like her to focus on her ranking in the faculty, rather than the salary. "I find my duties as Headmaster to be rather taxing these days. Your travel schedule will probably result in my teaching nearly as much as I have this year, anyway. I also wish to spend more time teaching Legilimency and Occlumency. Will you accept? Minerva is exceedingly supportive of the idea, as we have discussed it at length. I have little doubt the remainder of the staff would also enjoy your staying on."

"I'd be delighted, but I will put in my request now to spend the winter holiday in the U.S. Perhaps we might arrange an academic exchange with Sedona and bring along a faculty supervisor. Who might wish to go?" He could feel her mind churning with thoughts of the coming year and expected her to draw forth another parchment and draw up a revised lesson plan on the spot.

"You may cause a riot with that offer. We would have to find an equitable method of deciding, or else create a travel fund for the entire faculty and staff." Hunter considered that notion, which was a good one.

"The only remaining matter, then, is that of our honeymoon." Hunter grinned uncontrollably.

"Yes, that. It may be difficult to propose this as an academic necessity," he replied, with more of a twinkle in his eye than any true reluctance.

Hunter gave not a moment's hesitation. "It would be prudent for a school headmaster to know more about Magical education elsewhere in the world, particularly if he is interested in making his school world-class."

"As he would."

"So perhaps this Headmaster should undertake a fact-finding mission to the Sedona School, supervised by his American staff member who might act as his translator for American English." She counted on her fingers as she continued. "You'll need New World ingredients for your new Scorpion Venom antidote and I'll need to teach you where to find them, how to harvest them, how to store them. Including Scorpion Venom itself, which we will import only using the correct forms and storing only under the most secure conditions. Not to mention learning about the star map in the right geographic location, which simply can't be done from here. And crystals, you have a lot of learning to do about crystals…" There were an astonishing number of "ands" that followed. She began a third parchment, writing up her proposal for the Wizengamot to request a school-related trip to the Sedona School, adding in the names of faculty there, plants, animal and mineral names, and a hundred other details.

"Be sure to note there that I will require a budget for sunglasses," he muttered.

"And a new wardrobe," she replied, eyes still focused on the page. "One with fewer layers," she added brightly, glancing at him.

"Never," came the reply. Hunter returned resignedly to her writing.

Hunter barreled along. "We can propose future trips to focus on Astronomy (we'll bring Aurora), which is particularly excellent in the desert…" Her plans would fill the next seven to ten years, at least, during which time he had no doubt she would develop more. He nodded with each following suggestion, until she reached Magical Creatures and bringing along Hagrid. He had his limits.

Once the sound of her quill scratching over the parchment ceased, he pulled her into his lap. "I love the way you think," he murmured against her ear. Responding to such delightful words, she leaned into his arms and kissed him deeply.

"Who would you choose to be my handler?" he asked sardonically, once he was able to speak again. "For you certainly can't be trusted as my chaperone. Bear in mind an open offer may cause another riot, though the desert in summer may have a bit less appeal than at Yuletide."

"I'm thinking of Sybill," she replied. He looked for evidence of humor and found none. "She'll fit in beautifully in Sedona. I have a Seer friend I'd love for her to meet. I think they'd enjoy one another very much. Think of it as faculty development."

Snape looked doubtful. If Sedona was a place where Trelawney would fit in, he wasn't entirely sure it was a place he'd want to be. If Hunter were there, however, he could certainly tolerate a great deal. "Hopefully your friend will be willing to fill vast amounts of her time with Professor Trelawney. I would not want her to be bored, of course," he said with as much a twinkle in his eye as she'd ever seen.

"I have no doubt HE would be delighted to spend far too much time teaching her," she replied.

Severus's eyes widened at this thought, after which he drew her in again for another kiss. She was brilliant, beautiful, and his. He would do anything for her, this amazing witch.


	45. Chapter 45: Persistence

**Good day, readers. I took a holiday and polished this one, just for you. Severus and Morgan are trying to figure out how to come together, and it isn't easy for either of them (nothing ever is). Reader reviews have been so very motivating, I hope you'll continue. Feel free to PM me if you don't want to post one publicly. I always treasure your feedback.**

 **Happy reading! -DN**

Severus Snape could not recall ever before having been this pleased, perhaps not since that first ride on the Hogwarts Express. Their wedding plans were in place (he had wedding plans!), the date a mere weeks away, once Morgan's friends and colleagues from Sedona finished their school year and arrived. It seemed possible that he might manage not to destroy things completely in that limited amount of time.

The Dark Lord was defeated and there were no significant signs that the Death Eaters would attempt to regroup and attack any time soon, though a great deal of vigilance was maintained on the part of the Ministry and the Aurors. The Deputy Minister of Magical Education had been influential to the Minister of Magical Education and he would not only keep his job, but also no longer be under investigation, at least for now. Perhaps he might even have an ally, should he need one when he approached the Wizengamot about accommodating his honeymoon.

O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams were over and most students had done well enough not to embarrass the name of Hogwarts. The school was awash in the generous donation from Morgan Hunter, the staff well-pleased with the improvements to their salaries, the students well-pleased with the improvements to the menu. The most amazing witch on earth was in love with him. Everything was going along swimmingly.

Even Potter was less bothersome than usual. His college plans had solidified, he'd earned the required N.E.W.T.s to begin Aurora training at Felbridge, and seemed of late to be more attentive than usual to Miss Weasley, leaving him to wonder if yet another wedding announcement was to be issued in the near future. The post-exam ball had gone well, the students welcoming the unexpected celebration. He'd consented to dance publicly with Morgan, despite his rather inexpert steps and with every eye in the school locked onto this unprecedented event. He hadn't hexed or jinxed a single student, despite strong temptation. With Winder off his back, the money troubles of the school well in check, and the prospect of the students leaving shortly left him nearly giddy, if not a bit less surly than usual.

He would see her shortly, with nothing on their agenda together other than enjoyment and anticipation. They had bowed to the inevitable and paused their research, given that their student assistants would so shortly be departing, leaving them no way to work efficiently, though he shuddered to think of the effort required to train a mostly new crop of volunteers in the fall. He turned his mind to more pleasant thoughts. They would gather all kinds of useful New World specimens on their honeymoon/"school business" trip around the summer solstice (once they'd ironed out a few pesky details around his travel and probation). They could simply enjoy one another's company without the burden of tasks to accomplish. Such a rare moment, one that he savored.

Morgan Hunter had awoken with a smile to greet the new day, the sun now up well before she rose and setting at a respectably late hour, after having warmed the air a respectable amount. She expected a reply from Hania and her friends any day now, as she'd sent out the owls with her lengthy message about her recent events, including their wedding announcement and invitation, nearly a week ago.

Despite her approaching poverty, she couldn't have cared less. She had ordered and paid for furnishings for the apartment the school had kindly provided for after their wedding. The Headmaster's apartment, of which Severus had never taken possession, was delightful, sunny and facing southwest from the top floor. It had been difficult for Severus to assess, given his deep connection to the previous occupant, but he managed to find places of honor for Albus Dumbledore's most important personal possessions.

The apartment came with only two bedrooms, but with a modest amount of wand-waving, she was able to expand it to 4 ("In case we have guests," she'd said. He wasn't fooled for a moment. "Hogwarts has plenty of guest rooms. There are no guests I would want staying that close to me."). He hadn't removed the rooms. She'd gone quite barmy in decorating them, spending far too much money, knowing that they would shortly be impoverished. Tapestries, rugs, furniture, tableware, silver, lanterns, from shops here and the States. She'd decided on heavy drapes near the windows, in deference to Severus's sensitive eyes.

She ran her fingers over the new wardrobe she'd bought as a surprise wedding gift for Severus, feeling the soft wool, the plush velvet, crisp linen, and smooth satin linings. Nothing of bright colors nor flashy fashionable styles, but of better fabrics, a more flattering cut, plus a full set of cotton and linen desert clothes. She considered how he must have felt this past year, having no money to spend on clothing for himself, wearing the same thing day after day, wearing a sign of his poverty so publicly. She couldn't wait to see the pleasure on his face after he opened the closet and drawers filled with new things. They were already packed for the honeymoon, in the new traveling trunks she'd ordered to match her own, but embossed with his initials, two S's, intertwined like snakes. He would be pleased, she was sure of it.

Janiss had decided to accept the offer of a teaching assistant here for the following year, to give her time to make plans and apply to either colleges or other professional apprenticeships. Once she and Severus were married, the crystal mines and their profits would be held in trust for her, so she would never need to worry about money. Morgan knew Philipus would have been pleased that their earnings would continue to support his niece. His brother's estrangement had hurt him deeply, especially when word had reached him of having a niece he was not permitted to see. Morgan was determined to fill the void of family for Janiss as best she could, knowing that nothing was the same as her own mother and father and that she was only slightly less than a stranger to Janiss for now. There would be work ahead, and it was likely to take a long time.

Hunter sat up sharply in anticipation as the owls began to arrive at breakfast. She sat in her usual place at the staff table next to Severus, hungrily eating the hot beans and sausages. A large screech owl deposited only a single response, but it was a start. She put a knut in the owl's pocket distractedly and opened the scroll, clearly from Hania. Its smooth velvety surface held all his own warmth and wisdom.

Snape heard Morgan's fork clatter onto the table as she sucked in her breath. Glancing aside, he took in the change in her mood from lively to pale and ashen faced. She looked at him with anxiety in her eyes.

"What is it?" he asked uselessly.

"I can't say now, just meet me in my office after the first morning classes." She crammed in the last few bites of her breakfast and scurried out to her first class, pocketing the scroll as she went. Snape's eyes followed her, barely noticing the swish of her dark green robes he would ordinarily have admired, troubled as he was running down the possibilities for what the content of the scroll could be.

After a class period of little value, his being distracted by her reaction to the message and the students being distracted by the approaching end of term and N.E.W.T.s being over, he rushed across the hall where she sat already. She closed the door and gestured for him to sit, while she continued to pace the confines of the space. With no greeting or touch, she began.

"I wrote to Hania just after we got engaged," she started, gesturing with the scroll. "I told him everything, about you and us and our plans. About how we were to be married and how important it was for me to have him there to perform the traditional ceremonies."

"Did he refuse?" Snape asked, aghast. "On what grounds? Perhaps he has been reading the _Daily Prophet_ and he disapprove of your choice of husbands?" His tone was decidedly testy and he gripped the arms of the chair repeatedly.

She turned, not looking at him directly, which he now found even more disconcerting that her usual direct stare. "No. Well, not exactly. It's more of a delay than a refusal. I should just read it to you."

She began to unroll the scroll. "I can read it myself," he said. Despite his previous exchange of messages with Hania, he still stung at the thought that this stranger would dare intrude on their plans and timing. She handed it over without any of the resistance he expected from her as a matter of course. He unrolled it, feeling the softness of the vellum. No flashes of vision or feelings and emotions came through like his previous message. The letters on the page, though familiar, made no sense to him.

"He's written it in code," Snape snapped, rolling it up and resisting the urge to crumple it. "I suppose he would be suspicious of me, given what he may have read in the papers."

Hunter laughed and took back the scroll, grinning at his consternation. "It isn't a code, Severus. He's written it in our native language, that's all. As I said," she repeated pointedly, "I should just read it to you."

He growled slightly, but sat opposite her desk, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair and shifting impatiently.

" _My dear Kasa,"_ she began, reading slowly as she translated.

"Kasa is your real name?" His brow furrowed. There was much about her that he didn't know, much he hoped to learn on their honeymoon trip to her home, but even something as elemental as her name? The realization of how much he might truly not know, despite how much they'd shared, shamed him. How could he not even know the name of his soon-to-be-wife?

She looked up, startled by the interruption before she even got to the body of the message. "No, not exactly. Names are a bit fluid in my culture. Kasa means 'wearing furs.' It's a kind of nickname, his little joke, that refers to the fact that I am so far away from home in a place that is so cold. But it isn't like a formal name, an unchanging name that you would have."

"Do you have another name other than Morgan, one that your family gave you?" he asked.

She felt his growing unease, his unsure footing with her culture playing a larger role than it had before, when they hadn't been planning a lifetime together. "Even the name I was given after birth was not intended as my name forever. We usually go through many names as we go through life, at different points. I've kept the name Morgan for a long time, for professional reasons, but I was called as Nova when I was a small child, which means someone who chases butterflies, Shumana once I started school, because I used to like to capture rattlesnakes, and Kaiah, which means little but wise. I was given that name after being in school for a while. People change as they go through life, and our naming traditions reflect this."

He pondered the wisdom of this in contrast to the fixed notions of character more common to European culture, and British Magical culture in particular. Names were passed from generation to generation, family traits assumed to be consistent in children. Even Hogwarts sorted witches and wizards before they'd even had any proper Magical education at all, a decision that delivered a rather self-fulfilling prophecy. If you put an ordinary witch in a house full of people who believe that they are the smartest in the school, she will probably tend to spend a lot of time studying and become what she's been told she is. Tell an ordinary wizard he belongs with others who tend to become Dark Wizards, put him with the children of Death Eaters, and he will see himself through that same lens. Dumbledore may have been right about Sorting too early.

He seemed satisfied with her explanation, so she continued, her voice drawing him out of his thoughts.

" _I received your message with great anticipation and joy. How pleased I am to know that you are well, with a fully recovery due to this remarkable new potion. I look forward to meeting your intended in the very near future. He must be a truly remarkable wizard to have created this novel formula, and to have won your heart._

" _It is a great honor that you should invite me to perform your marriage, my friend. I am humbled and give you my wholehearted support. The time is not right, however. When you left Sedona, you had not yet completed your healing after the shock of losing Phillipus. This and the trauma you have experienced since then suggest that you need to complete that process before you'll be able to give yourself completely, body and soul, to your husband. Marriage, to be full, must be between two people who are able to give themselves to one another, with as much of their past damage resolved as possible. Surely this is your intent, a gift you will give your partner._

" _I will come, at the time you've asked. The others will accompany me, as well. But our first duty will be to cleanse you, make you ready once again to take on this next era of your life. We will talk more after I arrive, but you already know what you need and why. Surrounded by those who love you, we will be with you all the way._

" _I will be overjoyed then to wed you to this wizard when the time is right."_

She continued to read down the words, but stopped translating them word for word. "He just goes on from there about how many rooms they'll need, supplies he will bring and what he needs from us." She rolled the letter back up and placed it on her desk.

He eyed her carefully, trying to understand what all this meant to her, to get some sense of what Hania was implying. She needed some kind of healing, but what? She didn't meet his eyes, as though she were ashamed in some way. He rose and came to her, drawing her up to him. "I, too, will be here for you, Kasa." At his attempt to use this new name, she managed a weak smile. "Of course, I am disappointed to have to wait longer, but I have waited this long. A few more weeks will change nothing for me." He held her and continued. "Perhaps it will be for the best, after all. The students will be gone by then, school business at an end, leaving us fewer distractions and more time to focus on the event." Despite her moving more closely into his embrace, he sensed her tension, rather than relaxation. He waited, knowing she had more to say, concerned that he did not truly know what her healing tradition would involve. Regardless, he would be there for her, whatever she needed.

After a time, she pulled away and sat down, not looking at him. She must be in great need of healing, she was clearly in distress. Either that or the healing process was formidable. Finally, she reached for his hand and pulled him to sit next to her. She met his eyes with her unwavering gaze. He wasn't sure which was more unsettling, when she avoided his gaze or when she was so direct.

"I take it there's more to this than just a few potions and some spells," he said cautiously.

She nodded. "Have you heard of a sweat lodge, Severus?"

He tried to remember his reading about New World Magic from the summer before. His focus on potions had paid off well with the Scorpion Venom Antidote, but it left his knowledge of other aspects of New World Magic rather thin. "Yes, but I'm not quite clear on how the Magic in it works."

"It's a combination of simple physical cleansing and endurance and the Magic from the elements used and those who guide you through it. Done well, you arrive at the end of the ordeal purified, ready to begin your next phase of life."

He nodded, remembering reading about the super-heated tents that were set up for the purpose, the careful selection of stones for the heat, the wood and skins used in the construction, the incantations spoken to prepare the water and the space. But most of all, he recalled the endurance it required to complete the experience. Most people who underwent this kind of spiritual healing did so in multiple sessions, cooling in between before the heat completely overtook them. He was already concerned for her, despite her strength.

"You are strong, Morgan. I will be there with you, to help in any way I can," he said firmly.

She regarded him cautiously, unprepared for his reaction. "I know, Severus. But I don't only need you to help me. I need you to undergo the purification, as well. For yourself."

Snape drew back sharply, his eyes narrowing. "What do you mean? I need healing? I am fine, Morgan. Even the very conscientious Madam Pomfrey has declared the Blood Builder series complete." He waved her words away. "I will be there for you," he repeated.

She grasped his hands and pulled him gently back to her. "Severus, the sweat lodge can heal damaged souls, but it can also rid them of demons. You need to be rid of yours."

His eyes shot open wide, what little color he had draining from his face. "My demon?" he said warily.

She nodded. "Demons have auras, too, like clouds of filthy pollution. I've seen yours, during the duel. That's why I was so aggressive. I hoped to destroy the demon."

"Instead you nearly destroyed me!" he shot back, drawing further away from her.

She leaned forward, taking his hand in hers. "I never wanted to hurt you, only to try to release you from it. How long have you had this thing haunting you?" she asked imploringly.

Snape released himself from her grip and leaned back dismissively, crossing his long legs. "Too long. I've learned to handle it. It had no bearing on us."

Hunter persisted. "I failed to rid you of it, it isn't gone. It's still there. I've seen it since then."

Snape, too, persisted. "As I said, it has no bearing on us." His tone, dismissive of her concerns, grated on her nerves, already frayed from the letter itself.

"It will grow again." Hunter kept her voice even and solid, trying not to shout or grab him by his lapels and shake him. Nor to draw her wand, though her wand-hand was getting twitchy.

"I will manage it!" he snapped back testily, noting her clenching wand-hand.

She continued her fixed gaze. "Severus, when I marry you, I will marry only you. I won't marry you and a demon. You must rid yourself of it before we marry. A sweat lodge will cleanse you, free you from it. I need you to do this."

His gaze was equally fixed, equally determined. "As I said, Morgan, I can manage the demon on my own."

Her stomach turned. She had expected his surprise that she knew of the demon, she'd never mentioned it before, but her frank ultimatum had brought out his deep stubbornness and resistance. Now her own stubbornness was kindled. "How long has it been with you? If you can indeed manage it, why have you not rid yourself of it long ago? I meant what I said, I cannot marry both you and the demon. Marriage is not just lovey-dovey moments, Severus. It is for the rest of our lives, good times and bad. I need you to be fully present with me, not compromised by some ugly beast."

"And I will be fully present with you, forever. But I will manage the demon my way, Morgan."

She told herself that she shouldn't read too much into his reaction. His temperament was always one of privacy, taking care of himself without any others intruding. It was likely that he would always be so. She questioned how comfortable she would be with that characteristic as the years went by. She needed to make herself and her position clear.

"I give you until Hania and the others arrive," she stated deliberately. "If the demon isn't gone, fully gone, I need you to be ready to do this."

Snape growled, then stood and paced the room, hands clasped behind his back. Her office now seemed tiny, claustrophobic and confining. He wanted to escape, wanted a moment on his own, but wasn't willing to walk out on Morgan.

Morgan watched him, observing his resistance, his discomfort with her request. The ordeal that lay ahead for her was considerable, but for those with demons, it was even more difficult, as one had to be so much stronger than the demon, to withstand so much more, and drive it out completely. The longer a demon had been with a person, the more difficult it was. She didn't know for sure how long this demon had infested Severus, but she suspected it had been many years. Demons found young people under great stress irresistible. Certainly that had been the case in the first Wizarding War. So possibly 15 to 20 years. But it may have happened sooner. Regardless, he needed to eradicate the demon fully. Their duel and her hexes had nearly driven it out, but it had clearly not been a fully eradication. Any small remainder would regrow, gain strength, and resume its torment.

Later that night, before sleep would come, he lay awake, thinking of the sweat lodge. He would be there for her. He'd pledged to do anything, and he meant it. He would expel the demon on his own, in his own way, before the New World contingent arrived. Then she wouldn't be able to argue with him about not being ready. And he was so ready. With every kiss, every embrace, he felt more acutely his desire to be married, to know that she was his forever, that he would be Bound to her. The longer it was delayed, the more chances he had to foul up, to ruin things, to offend her, the demon offering constant reminders of that fact. It needed to be soon. He'd tried to feign nonchalance at the delay, but in truth, there was nothing worse for him to imagine than himself given time and opportunity to destroy his own happiness.

 _And foul it up, you will,_ the demon said acidly. _There is no other possibility for you. Once she's gone, you will be completely mine._

"You will be gone soon," he told the demon, only to hear its mocking laughter.

 _Yes, this time, at long last, you will desert me. You've tried and failed so many times. Your curses damaging your own body, nor all the foolish duels you took on as a boy, nor the cold of the waters, not even the bite of the snake that nearly killed you, couldn't drive me away fully. What could you possibly do to me now?_

Snape offered no reply, but his plans were already taking shape in his mind.

Morgan lay awake that evening, as had become her habit since her stay in the infirmary. Hania was right, she knew that. She needed to finish healing; she'd been foolish to run off before she'd finished, but the opportunity to escape had been too tempting. Despite as complete a change in her life as she could imagine, visions of Phillipus dead, waves guilt, the darkness and emptiness afterward had continued to plague her here. She felt well now, but in time, they would return. A new life had beckoned, at the same moment that the old one had no place for her. To be ready for her next step forward, she must first go back, to complete the difficult steps she'd tried to avoid before. How could she take care of Severus and any children they might have if she didn't take care of herself first? She owed it to them to seek the treatment that was right, to do what it took. She must be able to give herself completely to a husband, as freely and fully as possible. There was more she'd need to endure before calling herself ready. She steeled herself for the journey ahead, knowing she would prevail and come out of the experience purified and stronger than before. He was worth it. Her only hope was that he would come around to accept the sweat lodge without an argument. That would only make the process more difficult for him, and therefore more difficult for her, as she would be his companion to the process.

She drew the Solarium garment, now made into a blanket, around herself more tightly in the darkness. The warmth was comforting, but starting to wane. She'd drawn so much out of it already, having needed so much. She couldn't rely on these kinds of Magic, outside Magical things, to heal her. She needed to heal herself, from within, to truly be free. It wouldn't be long, only two weeks. She was already starting to sweat.


	46. Chapter 46: Sweat

**Good day, readers. This chapter took a lot of effort and research. Hopefully, it paid off in a good read for you. As always, reader reviews are like a drug for writers. Offer yours!**

 **DN**

"Why has their wedding been delayed?" Luna asked Harry with uncharacteristic concern.

Hermione's face, already carved with worry, became even more so. Luna knew every rumor and tale in the school and the Magical world in general. If she didn't know, who would? She looked at Ron, who also looked worried, but it was far more likely that he was worried about Hufflepuff beating Slytherin in the last Quidditch match of the year. Even with far fewer older students in Slytherin House this year, they were still a formidable opponent. Hufflepuff had been playing a solid game all year long and still had nearly all of their older players. They outweighed their opponents considerably, something rarely seen for any team facing Slytherin, long known for big, thuggish Beaters and ruthless Chasers.

"I think I'm having a stroke," Ron said to Harry before he had a chance to answer Luna. "I can't possibly cheer for Slytherin, ever, but if Hufflepuff wins, they have the Quidditch cup instead of us. This is AGONY." His agitation was palpable as Madam Hooch's opening whistle began the match. Hermione gave up trying to discuss anything with Harry and Ron and turned instead to Ginny. She was as enthralled as the others, muttering some nonsense about Porskoff ploys and Sloth-Grip rolls. Hermione gave up completely and vowed to try to enjoy her last Quidditch match at Hogwarts. She would circle back again on the subject later.

The match lasted most of the afternoon, to her dismay. To her surprise, Gryffindor House was taking the victory by Hufflepuff in stride, despite this meaning they took second place. Perhaps a long afternoon outside in the warm sun and the impending end of the school year was enough to keep spirits high. Even she had to admit it was an excellent game, well-played on both sides.

"I expect I'll see a lot of these folks at training camp come fall," Ginny said on the walk back up. "Zacharias Smith and Heidi MacAvoy made the farm team for the Chudley Cannons with me."

"What about Summerby?" Harry asked, knowing it was a loaded question.

Ginny snorted derisively. "She could barely get into the Falmouth Falcons, and they're at the bottom of the league. Vaisey will be there, too. Urquhart will be playing for the Holyhead Harpies. That's about right for her, being a Harpy."

Harry took Ginny's hand and smiled at her. "I'm just glad their camp is near Felbridge. We'll get to see each other more than if I was at Cloakreth."

She smiled back. "Not to mention you'd be a miserable Potioneer." That earned her a grimace and an eye roll, in good fun. They both then turned self-consciously to Hermione and Ron. "You guys will still see us, too, right?" Ginny hoped her tone was bright and reassuring, not the actual panic that had just crept in, thinking again about not seeing her friends as much in the future.

Hermione smiled confidently. "Of course we will. We'll be able to Apparate whenever we want, once we graduate. I may be able to get some weekends off from St. Mungo's."

Ron looked slightly stricken. "But for galloping Gorgons, plan ahead, guys. I don't want any of you blokes dropping in on me unannounced. A guy needs his privacy, ya know. And don't show up too early! I'll want my weekends for sleeping. Auror training is pretty much from sun up to sun down every day."

Hermione was running out of time. Soon they'd reach the castle and everyone would be running off to wash up for dinner or head to the library. Well, probably not the library, even for her. But still. "Harry," she started. "Luna said that Professor Snape and Dr. Hunter's wedding was put off, and it's got me worried. Do you know anything about it? Has he said anything to you?"

Harry shrugged dismissively. "He did mention that, but he was rather casual about it. He didn't seem to want to talk about it and you know how he gets if you needle him on anything, so I didn't ask why. He just said some of her friends were coming and would be doing some kind of sweat thing and that they'd get married in June, after graduation."

Hermione's reaction was nothing like casual. She stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth hanging open. "Sweat thing? You mean a sweat lodge? Whoa…"

Harry turned and looked at her quizzically and was relieved that the others did the same, apparently no more informed as to what this implied than he was. "What's the big deal? I didn't know what he meant, so I just let it go. He seemed peaved by the delay, but you can't blame a guy who's waited his entire life to be irritated that his marriage got set back a few more weeks."

"It sounds like her friends are coming to set up a sweat lodge. Who's going through it, her or him? Or both?" she asked with some urgency.

Harry looked uncertain. "It sounded like her, but, like I said, I didn't press him on the issue. He doesn't even want anyone to be present at the wedding other than me, just because he needs a witness and I am his only family, technically. I try to respect his privacy, you know." Ginny snorted.

"Just like at the Halloween Ball when you guys were shoving me out of the way to take a gander. And after the duel."

"That was different," Harry insisted. "I was worried for his safety," he said loftily.

"He seems to be a wizard who can handle himself," Ginny noted.

"Not always," Harry retorted. Ginny nodded in agreement, unable to argue that point.

"Anyway, Harry," Hermione said, trying to bring the conversation back to the matter at hand. "So, her friends are coming, they are going to set up a sweat lodge, but we have no idea who will be using it, nor for what reason?"

Harry shook his head. "What would you use one for anyway?"

"Native Americans use them for a lot of reasons. They help with purification, spiritual growth, those kinds of things. It's not part of a wedding ceremony, though. It's different from that, so I'm wondering who needs it. They've both been through a lot."

"How does it work?" Ginny asked. "Will they build a fire in one of the rooms in the castle, maybe the Room of Requirement? Make it like a sauna?"

"Not likely," Hermione replied. "They will want to build it on the grounds, because it has to be oriented correctly, to the sun or water or some other notable natural place. They'll find a bunch of stones, or bring their own. They have to be special stones. The wrong kind explode. They'll build a fire using particular wood, to heat the stones. They'll also build a tent with wooden beams and covered in cotton, wool, or animal hides. Then they put some of the stones inside to heat it up. The lead witch or wizard sits with the person until they either complete the process or overheat. Someone else stands by to help with cooling if they need it. I bet they'll build it by the lake, for the cold water. Most people can't do it all in one sitting without coming out to cool off."

Everyone just stared, waiting for her lecture to continue. "I did some reading after I found out she was Native American and not just from the US. The Hogwarts library got a bunch on new books this year on New World Magic, right Ron?" Ron looked blankly back at her as she exhaled in frustration. "You probably shelved all of them, Ron. Didn't you even read their titles?" Ron began to protest, but Hermione held up a hand. "Really guys, you need to do more reading. I bet not one of you picks up a book once you leave here, honestly."

That night, Harry contemplated what Hermione had asked. Snape really didn't seem to want to talk about it. He only told him because he would then need him to stay a couple of extra days after graduation to be his witness. But this sweat lodge? Snape hadn't mentioned it, so Harry assumed he wouldn't be involved in any way. It would take place next weekend, if it was to happen the same weekend as the previous wedding date. Even if he didn't say anything to anyone else about it, a fire on the grounds, a tent getting built, not to mention a contingent of Dr. Hunter's friends, would be impossible not to notice.

The intervening week would be slow torture. N.E.W.T. exams were over, the sun was out, the Quidditch season complete, and some kind of exotic and unknown event lay a week away. Spending the days indoors in lectures and labs would test his patience thoroughly. End of term exams lay ahead, but with N.E.W.T.s behind him, they didn't intimidate him this year as they had before. Yet as he lay in his familiar four-poster, the sounds of Ron and Seamus snoring as his usual soundscape, the fresh sheets provided by the House Elves, the blanket stitched in gold and crimson having been used for who knew how many previous years. Next fall, a new crop of first years would take their place in this room, in his bed, as had happened for generations before them. Harry tried to do the math to estimate if his father, Sirius, Remus, and Peter had been in this very room before him. Arithmancy hadn't been his best subject (none of them had been except Defense Against the Dark Arts), and the effort tired his brain before he could convince himself that they probably had or hadn't. He would be moving on soon. Surely with all that had happened him thus far, he'd be ready for it. Sleep finally overtook him as he gave thanks for being able to freely Apparate once they graduated.

* * *

Severus Snape lay awake far into the night, staring at the ceiling. Hania and the contingent of Morgan's friends from across the pond would arrive tomorrow afternoon. The House Elves had everything at the ready, rooms prepared (and well-heated), New World food procured. How the House Elves managed to obtain squash, beans, and maize in the Scottish Highlands on such short order, he'd leave to their Magic, which he hoped included how to cook the foods properly. The students had been well-pleased when the food budget increased, but still he looked forward to their reaction to the flatbreads made with blue maize, venison, hot chili pepper, and other New World flavors.

He had accompanied Morgan to the forest to identify the trees they would be most likely to want to use, as well as locating an outcropping that would be most likely to yield the best rocks. She had touched them and declared them "strong and proper" in some way. To him, they were rocks of ordinary granite, but apparently to her they spoke of Magic. Her selection of trees made more sense to him. They'd selected a stand of oaks and some nearby cedars and requested permission from the centaurs to take one of each. At first the centaurs objected, but once Morgan explained what their purpose was, they consented on the condition that they helped select the trees. Snape knew these ancient oaks well, including many of their offspring scattered about the forest. Some of the acorns he'd planted himself as a student, Slughorn guiding him to propagate only the strongest specimens. Those little saplings were becoming proud strong towers. Time had gone by, he reminded himself. A lot of time. He hoped the Magic of those trees, of the forest and the earth, would be sufficient for this new purpose.

He would host a welcoming dinner for them, introduce the staff, as well as introduce them to the students, despite his own dislike of high-profile ceremony. Despite Morgan's insistence that the delay was due to her needing to heal, he harbored doubts (amplified by the demon) that her friends disapproved of him. Perhaps they had read the worst in the _The Daily Prophet._ Worse, he had to listen as the demon speculated about her ulterior motives, his own penchant for speaking in anger, and the possibility of special friends among the men who might be among the visitors. He could only barely tolerate this delay to his marriage, even by the two more weeks until the students departed. If this is what was required, however, so be it.

After a light breakfast the following morning, they would scout out the right location, somewhere along the lakeside, she predicted. The lodge would take shape next, the cedar branches bent and connected for the frame, blankets and pelts stretched over that. Oak logs would be set afire, the stones collected and piled on the logs. Songs would be sung, incantations made, wands waved. Roles would be defined. Hania would lead, but a companion would be chosen for Morgan, someone other than him. Someone who knew about this Magic.

His unease grew, facing this unknown Magic. He couldn't feel what Morgan felt in the stones, had no idea just what forces would be drawn upon for the assembly and use of the sweat lodge. He had asked her about it, but her explanations were insufficient, as so many words about Magic unwitnessed were. Words could only take him so far. What would she experience? Would he know if she were in danger?

 _It will be just like in the alley in Hogsmeade,_ the demon whispered. _You'll be useless to her. You know nothing of this Magic. You can't desert me, either. I'll win you in the end, Severus, not her. She's so close, but you already know how this ends. Give yourself to me now, I'll make it easy for you. Later, I will have no mercy, no restraint._

"You'll have nothing of me," Snape replied. The demon only scoffed and curled up in a shadowy corner, biding its time.

* * *

Hunter lay awake, her mind abuzz. Tomorrow, she would see her friends again for the first time in nearly a year. Letters had been but a poor substitute for a real visit. Looking back, it was easy for her to see how far into the darkness she had fallen, that she had chosen to stay in London even after Severus made clear that he would not be joining her. Now she knew why, but at the time, she was heartbroken. Rather than travel home, she had instead chosen to wallow in her misery, alone in the inn as the holidays passed. She reminded herself with a shudder that she could easily have had company, then a second shudder of the result if Parse Winder had won her over in her emotionally vulnerable state.

That things would turn around this way had been impossible to imagine at that time. She had found imagining even a better future difficult, had found making plans for her future like swimming in molasses.

Tomorrow would be among the most crucial in her life. Severus would be there, as would her friends. She pictured the last times they'd been together, as she had told them the news that she was leaving, as she hurriedly packed her things. "Where?" "Keep in touch!" "Let us know when we can come visit." "When will you be back?" "Don't forget your mantas." They'd brought her so many gifts, pottery vessels, jewelry, crystals, herbs. She'd neglected them, withdrawn herself from their blessings. Tomorrow, they would return to her. She would welcome them with the feast she'd planned, already longing for the food and flavors she'd missed. Perhaps if they arrived early enough, she'd ask Mansi to put her hair up in the squash blossom style.

She wondered what she would feel like after the sweat. For so many months, she'd been in darkness, sadness, heaviness. A year and a half. How would it feel to be in balance again? She had forgotten the feeling and yearned for it. Sleep finally found her, her dreams filled with visions of fire, stone, and water.

* * *

The day finally dawned on the day for the sweat lodge, sunny and warm, but not yet worth calling hot. The first rays of sun glinted off the Black Lake.

All of the students, barred from the grounds behind the castle and down to the lake by an Age Line set to 25, instead clustered at every available window and door, each angling to see the event, despite few having even a notion of what to expect in terms of spectacle or purpose. Ever since their shocking performance at the post-exams Spring Ball, anything having to do with the Headmaster and the Potions Mistress was a big draw. Omnioculars, usually reserved for Quidditch matches, had been snatched from trunks and dressers and were passed excitedly from one student to the next as the Hogwarts rumor mill switched into high gear.

Hunter was already worried and irritated. Severus still had the daemon, despite his repeated insistence that he would drive it out himself and that he would do so before their wedding. She had hoped he would have expelled it, as she now needed to request a sweat for its expulsion from Hania. She was not in doubt of Hania's reaction, though she highly valued his good opinion and judgement. Her friends' reactions were more concerning. Severus seemed profoundly uncomfortable meeting all of these new people at once. He'd had retained his customary chilly affect, saying little beyond the words necessary for their introduction and his presiding at dinner the night before. Despite her warm greeting, it was clear her friends had taken notice of his standoffishness. Even without her Sight, she would have been able to surmise their cautiousness about him.

She'd spent the night in the guest wing with her friends. In the morning, as they helped her with her hair, they had peppered her with questions. Even Elizabeth Wardwell, one of her best friends, was less than supportive. It didn't take Divination to understand what she was getting at when she expressed her concern that "It's all happened so fast," and "Are you sure about him?" She might have been rather perturbed by these expressions of doubt, both in him and in her, but she couldn't blame her. They have been friends since Lizzie joined the staff at Sedona 10 years ago; she knew she had her best interests at heart. She had stopped writing, worrying them. Severus was doing little to win over her friends, despite knowing they had, no doubt, read the stories about him in back issues of _The Daily Prophet._ She had been reassuring to Lizzie, Mansi, and the others, but their glances to one another told her that her words rang hollow to them.

For his part, Severus had agreed to the sweat lodge with great reluctance. The effort it took to then convince him to wear something other than his usual woolen frock coat and trousers was absurd.

Hunter paced the hall outside his chambers, trying to keep her voice quiet so as not to attract any undue attention. "You'll just overheat before you have a chance to experience what it provides. Cooling charms defeat the purpose." She didn't bother to hide the irritation in her voice. "You simply must, Hania and Lapu will never let you enter unless you are dressed properly. It wouldn't be safe, for one, but it also wouldn't be respectful." She had hoped by dragging respect into the discussion she might overcome his insistence that he had a greater capacity to withstand heat than other, ordinary wizards. He seemed determined to resist every possible step on this journey. His reception to her guests had been so formal and stiff, they had been offended. His introductions of them to the staff and students had been humorless and dull and the meal far from celebratory, as she'd hoped for. At least the food was familiar and delicious. She had forgotten how much she missed it until she was eating and tasting the warm flavors and textures. The ache to be gathered around a fire outside an adobe home, eating with friends under the stars. And the singing. Memories had clouded her eyes for a moment, but she quickly cleared them lest anyone think she was sad in any way about her current circumstance.

Snape for his part paced angrily, muttering under his breath. At last he agreed to wear the lightweight cotton tunic shirt and trousers, but insisted they be full length and black. It was a reasonable compromise, one she readily accepted. Her hand was raised to give a knock to see what the delay was when he threw open the door, swept out, then shut the door with a bang followed by a series of sealing charms. She jumped back in surprise, then attempted not to stare at him. As they strode along the dim, cool corridor, her hand on his arm felt different, with fewer layers between them. She cast a few furtive glances, noting silently that she'd never even seen his neck or wrists, never mind his ankles or feet, now shod in the black soft-soled leather ankle boots appropriate for the ceremony. Only his face usually framed by his dark hair and his hands protruding from the long tightly-buttoned sleeves of his shirt and jacket.

"Don't fear New World Magic, Severus. This is a…" She never had the chance to finish her reassuring remarks about how cleansing and transformative the experience was.

"I do not fear your Magic!" he bellowed, jerking away from her as they strode up from the dungeons. Remembering the sensitive ears all around, he lowered his voice. Displeasure at her words still shook his voice, even in a hoarse whisper. "That is absurd. I am fully prepared to endure what I must, for you." Clearly, he was going into the experience in something other than an open and receptive frame of mind. Attempting to hex or jinx someone into an open and receptive frame of mind wasn't known to be very effective. She placed her hand back on his arm, offered a terse apology for implying his fearfulness, and gave him a few moments to collect himself. He took a few breaths, closing his eyes, then placed his hand over hers. It appeared as though he were contemplating an apology to her, but his jaw remained firmly set, his countenance grim.

Now they set out silently down the grounds, painfully aware of the hundreds of eyes glued on them.

The stones were resting in the fire, which burned brightly. Heat radiated from the fire, with no winds today to dissipate it. A tall wizard, the one called Lapu, dressed in cotton robes covered in geometric patterns and spirals and a large silver disk on his necklace carefully moved the stones one by one into the lodge which faced the lake and the still-rising sun. The lodge was covered in blankets and deer skins. A second wizard, Chowilawu, stood by a large pottery vessel filled with water, a matching cup in his hand. Hania waited by the door, gesturing for Hunter to begin first. He greeted her warmly, with a broad smile. Her friends all came to give her well-wishes, as well, before she approached the sweat lodge.

"You'll need to wait," Hania said to Snape, placing a restraining hand on his chest. "Each person must go as an individual, but she will be well cared-for. You may remain outside. She will probably come out a few times. Chowi will offer her water. You may speak to her then." Lapu, tall and intimidating, took a couple of steps closer, as well.

Snape regarded the group of them warily. "I'll be fine, Severus. Hania, Chowi, and Lapu are experts in this. I know you don't know any of them, but you must trust that I do." How well she knew them was part of what was making him so uncomfortable. She reached up for him, but he was painfully aware of the multitude of viewers. He bent to give her a small peck, then leaned into her ear. "When you finish, when we are inside again, I'll do better than this." She smiled and squeezed his hand, drawing what connection she could from the depth of his eyes. He had no idea what lay ahead, but she did. There would be nothing like that tonight, and possibly not for several more. This would be draining and take some time to recover from. At last she turned away from him and greeted Hania.

Lapu drew forth a charred bundle of fragrant sage and lavender, then handed it to Hania. Hania raised the smoldering, smoking bundle and bowed to the four compass directions, praying in Hopi as he did so.

Snape had no notion of what the words meant, but Morgan closed her eyes and folded her hands, her breathing slowed. The scent of the herbs filled his nose, bringing to mind her perfume.

Once the words had ceased, Hania pulled aside the blanket stitched with fire and a raven rising to the sun, and Hunter began.

It was dark and hot inside, but not as hot as she'd imagined. The only light was from the glowing stones in the center. She took her place opposite Hania and drank in the scent of cedar and sacred herbs, sage and sweetgrass. Her nose opened with the humid steam as Lapu poured water over the stones, hissing the release.

"Breathe in the heat, let it fill you from the inside."

Hunter inhaled deeply, feeling the heat seep in. She hadn't been this warm even with a charm since she'd left the desert and had forgotten how much she missed the soothing warmth, loosening her muscles, relaxing her bones. She breathed in again. This small tent transported her home, as though she were really there. Her skin began to glisten in the heat as Hania began an ancient incantation, short, and repeated. She joined the chant as Lapu kept the rhythm with his drum.

She began to immerse herself in the chant and the drum, releasing any resistance, forgetting what lay outside the tent, her whole consciousness slowly giving way to the words, the rhythm. Her eyes closed, her mind open, she could feel the presence of her ancestors all around her, even from the other side of the world. They joined her in chanting. Her father and mother, her aunt and grandmother, great aunts, uncles, grandfathers, wrinkled faces seared from lives in the sun, carved with wisdom, experience, knowledge.

"Teach me more," she said. Silently or out loud, she wasn't truly certain. They gathered closer, pressing in on her, some becoming their younger selves, the selves that she had never seen, from before she even existed. Their being merged with her own, and she saw. Uncle knew of a sacred place ringed with cornflower. She mapped out the directions, so she could go there when she returned. Grandmother showed her how to cast the clay pots she should use to make the cornmeal flour and reminded her that she had one in her possession that would be perfect for her wedding. Someone insulted her, and her aunts rushed to defend her, surrounding her. Her mind ached with missing them, but softened again with the assurance that they were still with her, anywhere, anytime she might call upon them. "We are still here with you," they whispered. "Within you. Within your possessions, within your soul. Always." Her own tears joined the sweat pouring down her face.

She opened her eyes once more. Lapu stepped out and returned with more hot stones and more water for steam. She felt a brief chill of air coming in from the door and realized her whole body was drenched, not only her face. She stood, stretched, then resumed her position on the ground, feeling its energy course through her.

"Do you need to cool, Kasa?" Hania asked, but she shook her head.

"I've missed the heat. I'm ready to continue."

Now Hania began a different chant, this one calling into the future. Lapu struck a different rhythm and she joined once more. Closing her eyes, breathing in the mist, she sunk back once more into a sea of visions. Were these truths, the future, or possibilities? She wasn't sure. Images of children, some in uniforms, some in desert clothes, surrounding her. Black faces, brown faces, white faces. Were they her own or students? Her hands, old and wrinkled. Places from around the world, the secrets of their minerals and crystals revealed. The stars turning in the night skies, the moon waxing and waning endlessly, plants growing and dying, trees rising, falling, rotting, giving life to seeds and saplings. Cycles, seasons, days and nights swirled around her until she felt dizzy.

She eventually realized that the chanting had stopped. She was lying on the ground in the tent. She felt the power of the earth through her cheek. She places her hands upon it and felt a surge. Hania and Lapu reached down and helped her up once more and escorted her out.

The day felt crisp and clean, new. Her ancestors were beside her, even on the other side of the world. The future lay ahead, with some part of her in it.

Severus, his back to the others, facing out across the water, turned, hearing her exit, his aura blue ringed with yellow. He was concerned for her, which made her heart glow. She drank the water Chowilawu offered, its taste sharp and restorative. Severus joined her, gesturing impatiently for another glass for her. Chowi provided it with an understanding smile for her and a glare for him. Severus returned his glare and took her hand. "Are you alright, Morgan?" he asked, trying to strike a balance that avoided any trace of patronization, but still expressed his hope for her well-being.

"I'm fine, Waquini." She smiled as she downed the second large cup of water. "It's amazing, I've seen so much, I'll tell you all about it later. It will be so good for you. Now I need to go back in."

"You aren't done?" He looked with concern at her sweat-soaked clothing. How much did it take?

She looked back at the tent with longing. "No, not yet. Hania and Lapu will know when I am ready. I'm going back in." She felt his displeasure with not knowing how the sweat lodge experience played out. Perhaps his concern was not only for her, but also for himself. Perhaps he should have been first, to expel the daemon, then simply wait for her with the comfort of knowing how it worked and also being free from the daemon. What was it saying to him? "This is a good thing, a necessary process, just like Madam Pomfrey. Please don't worry about me, Severus."

"I will not worry for you, if you will not worry for me when it is my time," he replied. He nodded skeptically and watched her turn and enter the tent once more, Lapu bringing two more glowing rocks.

Mansi, Lizzie and the others observed her fiance from a distance. He returned to his previous position, looking out across the waters, hands clasped behind him, away from the others. Lizzie mused over her friend's strange choice for her second husband, so different from Phillipus. She had never met anyone like him before, so reserved and stony in his silence, only broken for necessary words. It seemed Morgan did most of the talking for the two of them. He barely even touched Morgan the entire evening before and done a poor job hiding his surprise when she joined the dinner with her hair in the traditional style of a woman before marriage. He'd not touched her at all this morning except for the perfunctory kiss just now. Morgan said he'd made an extraordinary new potion, a scorpion venom antidote, that had saved her life, but he would need to have more going for him than potions skill to make a good husband to her. Morgan Hunter mixed with all the best potioneers in the world, many of whom were unmarried wizards and nearly all of whom would have to be more attractive and more sociable that this one. Lovers, wives, husbands, and family were generally a bit more animated when a loved one underwent the sweat lodge. He just stood there, looking out across the dark waters, hardly moving. She would have thought him a statue except for a slight freeze that moved his hair and tunic somewhat.

 _Once you surrender to me, Severus, you won't need to worry about Morgan Hunter being lonely. She will be nicely restored and ready to make the best of her life. Have you noticed how Lapu and Chowi look at her? Clearly she knows them well. Both so handsome. Lapu is tall, strong, Chowi muscular and kind. They are her people, they speak her language, know her history, know her Magic. You have none of this. She is too well-bred to show her interest openly, but what witch wouldn't notice their muscles under those thin shirts, Lapu's clinging with sweat? The young witches certainly have. Did you hear their words of appreciation as they walked down the grounds this morning? The wizards might be using those Omnioculars to view the sweat lodge and the fire, but the witches have a different view. Perhaps Lapu and Chowilawu have come to win her heart once you break it. A witch like her won't be alone long, especially with such wizards nearby. How many more do you suppose she knows in Sedona?_

Snape bit back his temptation to speak out loud, to taunt the daemon. In his silence, the daemon gloated. _You've been thinking the same. Just let her go now, and honorably. She will know it is for the best. She probably is having second thoughts about her impulsive proposal, looking for a way to withdraw honorably. Give that to her._

Now within the dark confines of the tent, Hunter again felt the intensity of the heat and the flow of water within her, driving from her stomach outwards, coursing through every cell in her body, taking with it all that the cells were releasing, and more. Hania began a new chant, one she'd never heard before, something about cleansing, atonement, false hope. She joined in and before long, the new words were familiar, rhythmic, comforting. The drumbeat kept the pace and her vision grew dimmer.

She was in a dark room at the back of an adobe house, alone, curled and hurting, tense, pulled together in a ball, her face to the wall. As much as she tried to pull herself in, she tried to shut out what was around her. She was pulling tighter and tighter, getting smaller and smaller, her limbs fading into her body as she squeezed, until finally she was only her consciousness, with no body at all. She floated now, wherever she wanted to go, instantly. She rose, to the top of the mesa, looking out across the canyon as the sun set. The stars emerged as the moon rose. Her heart would have lept, had she had one; there was Philipus, painting. She went to him, merged with him. He was thinking of her, loving her, pouring himself into his work, every brushstroke an act of love, every star a kiss. Now she felt his mind shift. "Morgan," he thought. "You are here, but you shouldn't be." Hunter felt the sting of tears. "I'll always be with you, but now it is time for you to live again. My love has no limits, nor should yours. Love is not like a body, limited in time and space. It is Magic itself. The more you give, the more you have. Give your love, Powaqa. There will always be enough…Your future is long, Morgan. Let the past bring you to it. Don't let it hold you prisoner."

Her tears flowed unabashedly. She felt his hand on her shoulder as her body took shape once again, his energy flowing into her like a blessing. "My love always be with you, and yours with me. Go and live your life. Let your love flow, for few things hurt so much to hold in as love. Loving will heal you, and will heal your love."

With that, she fell from his consciousness and watched as he went to the edge of the canyon. She watched in fear, but instead of falling, he rose, his white skin shining, until he became a star in the constellation Chuhukon.

Hunter found herself once more in the sweat lodge, Hania there, looking satisfied.

"I am ready," she said. He nodded, and rose with her to exit the tent.

She emerged, her body covered in sweat, but feeling cleaner, lighter, newer than she ever had. Chowi had water, which she drank thirstily as Severus gestured for more. She drank a second glass, feeling the cleansing waters restore her. Now she needed to rest. The celebration would come later, after dark, after Severus was done.

She whispered, "It's your turn, now. Go and be well, my love."


	47. Chapter 47: Equal

**As always, thank you patient readers. I hope you enjoy this chapter as we explore a bit more of the interior lives of our favorite pair. Leave a review and recommend to your reader friends.**

 **Shout out to my betas, you know who you are...**

 **DN**

The assembled students of Hogwarts, leaning out open windows, crowding door frames, were stunned to silence as the Headmaster now walked toward the sweat lodge, as though seeing him dressed in anything other than his usual black frock coat and trousers wasn't enough for a single day.

"Crimony, Snape's going in, too," breathed Ron. "Looks like you were right, Hermione."

Hermione sniffed. "Professor Snape wouldn't have changed clothes without a good reason," she noted. "Obviously."

Hania had noted the aloofness in Snape's manner since he'd arrived, the way he seemed to be elsewhere, anywhere but where he was at any moment. Hunter's request, that Snape undergo a sweat to drive out a daemon, helped him make sense of this. If he'd had it for some time, he would have become accustomed to it, comfortable with the discomfort to a certain extent. The notion of separation, even from something evil, meant a great change. It would neither be gradual, nor easy. It would be a sudden life change. The longer he'd had the daemon as his companion, the less familiar a life without it would seem. Hania had driven out daemons before, some recent, some old. He was ready to do so again.

Lapu raised the smudging stick, the smoke drifting to the four directions, surrounding Snape, who drew in the essence of sage and cedar. Hania repeated the blessing, but in English now.

"May your hands be cleansed, that you create beautiful things.

May your feet be cleansed, that they may take you where you need to go.

May your heart be cleansed, that you may hear its messages clearly.

May your throat be cleansed, that you may speak rightly when words are needed.

May your eyes be cleansed, that you may see the signs and wonders of this world.

May this person and this space be washed cleaned by the smoke of these fragrant plants.

And may that same smoke carry our prayers spiraling to the heavens."

Snape remained still, but followed as Hania gestured to the opening in the lodge, Lapu coming behind, bringing in a fresh stone.

Snape collided with the wall of heat, feeling his eyes drying, his lips drying. The daemon stirring. Snape was pleased for the darkness, the only light from the glow of the hot stones.

Hania positioned himself on the ground and Snape followed suit. He began by explaining what they were doing, chanting, praying, giving thanks. By embracing good things, positive spirits and the energy from the heat and the earth, Snape would become an unpleasant vessel for the daemon. All three of them, Snape, Hania, and Lapu, would work together to drive the daemon out, then work to be sure it wouldn't come back. Severus remained silent, still, and stiff.

Hunter waited outside, worried, too depleted to pace as she itched to. Mansi and Lizzie stayed near, handing her towels. Hunter being silent was unusual and a cause of concern from her friends. Chowilawu brought her water again and again.

After a time, Lapu came out alone and retrieved more of the sacred water, then returned quickly. Hunter had difficulty reading him, an unsettling circumstance. As much of a burden as her sight frequently was, lacking it was worse, leaving her to fill in the missing information with the worst thoughts possible. He was overheating, but too stubborn to come out. He had insulted Lapu or worn out the patience of Hania. No thought was too far-fetched as her mind wandered restlessly to fill the gap left by not sensing Lapu's aura and knowing Severus's difficult personality.

Just as her thoughts swirled towards the worst, Hania emerged, his brow furrowed. Helped by Lizzie and Mansi, Hunter rose to speak with him, eager to hear what was going on.

"He won't give up the daemon, Kasa. He has Bound it to himself with magic. The daemon is ready to come out, wants to flee, but Professor Snape won't allow it. He knows why he is here, knows that you won't marry him until the daemon is out." Hania leaned closer to her, lowering his voice. "What kind of wizard is he? He will not pray or chant. He is disrespecting the ceremony. Perhaps he fears giving up the misery of the daemon he knows for a life with you that is unknown. What is he here for? Perhaps a message from you would help."

Lapu emerged and joined them, looking stony, sharing Hania's displeasure by the disrespect shown for the ceremony, by Snape's not giving himself over to it.

Hunter's heart fell. She'd heard her friends whispered remarks since their arrival, thinking she could not hear. Their questioning her choice in a husband, questioning her sanity. She, too, began to ask herself questions. _The others question you, what do you really know of him. Perhaps he, too, disrespects your Magic, just like Ethinian and so many others before him. He's been testy and distant for days and never got rid of the daemon. "I'll take care of it my way," as though the Hopi way wasn't good enough. Answer for yourself. He is to be your husband. He may love you, but does he truly respect you? What do you know?_

She stood silently for some time, looking out over the still waters of the Black Lake, turning over her thoughts. It had been so recently that she'd begun to know him truly. She needed to hold fast to that, to let that truth guide her, despite what she'd seen before and since. There was no clearer way to know someone. All those times she'd witnessed what seemed like deceit and chaos, he had a reason for his actions, always honorable. The sun shone warm on her face and the vibrations of the earth move through her feet.

She squared her shoulders. "I have no message for Severus. I don't know why he is doing what he's doing, but I know there is a reason, an honorable reason. If you can't yet trust him, trust me. He means no disrespect. Please continue to help drive out the daemon." She hoped her words delivered a confidence she was trying hard to believe in herself. Saying the words helped make it more so.

Hania nodded mutely, then gestured to Lapu to return.

 _She's either lost her mind or under some kind of spell,_ thought Lizzie. Sharing a glance with Mansi, it was clear she felt the same. _How do you tell a friend her choice of husbands is foolish? Can you ever do that and still keep your friend? Can you not and watch someone you care about make such a big mistake?_

Hunter sat down again, thanking Chowi for the water, when the screaming began. Lapu came out to retrieve another stone, then again to get another cup of water. Hania, too, emerged, asking for water for himself. He gestured for her to remain seated. Hunter now allowed herself true anxiety, as Hania was drenched in the aura of concern, something she'd never seen on him at any sweat.

"Severus is strong, but he still won't release the daemon. It is the daemon you hear screaming, not him," he said, finishing the cup and turning back to return.

Snape burst suddenly from the tent, running madly to the lakeside, tripping over stones, picking himself up and running further. At the water's edge he stood, ankle-deep, fumbling urgently in his pocket, which was clinging stubbornly closed from the sweat that soaked his clothes. In an instant, a slick black tentacle emerged from the water, wrapped around his ankle, and dragged him under. The Headmaster vanished, gone before anyone even had time to move.

"Severus!" Hunter screamed in horror.

The students and staff, faces jammed in every window and door, took a collective gasp. Harry tried desperately to run down the lawn, but the Age Line, well-cast by Flitwick, held fast. Helpless, he realized that he'd never heard anyone in all his time at Hogwarts ever express concern for Snape in the face of danger. Conversely, everyone seemed to regard his peril as a matter of justice served or entertainment. Until today. Now, expressions of terror for the plight of Snape took hold of every face, with tears welling in the faces of many.

All of the staff took off down the lawn at a run, wands drawn.

With no hesitation, Hunter found her strength and ran to the water, to the last place she'd seen him. She scanned the glassy surface for any sign of him, bubbles, ripples, anything. She found only a small bundle of green shoots in the shallow water. The others were shouting at her, coming nearer. They would be sure to hold her back, either physically or Magically. There wasn't a moment to lose. She scooped up the shoots he dropped, and dove in.

* * *

The Giant Squid had been watching, waiting, hoping, her appetite whetted since the incident earlier in the winter. The temptation of such a large treat was great. She'd been hunting closer and closer to shore than before, building her skills by plucking birds and turtles from the rocky, shallow edges when the opportunities presented themselves. She'd been circling endlessly, waiting for a bigger meal, knowing it would come sometime, if she were just patient enough. She'd almost had two back in February, but the coldness of the water prevented her from being her fastest, her strongest. Nevertheless, her curiosity and appetite were stimulated. The feet presented now were irresistible temptations. She'd snatched them as quickly as she could, the warmer waters giving her greater speed than before. Now a deep dive and a tight embrace until the meal stopped squirming, then tasty satisfaction. Perhaps even enough for her mate or children, too. But first, her own appetite needed to be satisfied. They could have the leftovers.

Dragging down the thrashing treat, she noted this one came with a bonus, two in one. Perhaps there would be a feast tonight. She wrapped her tentacles more strongly around the struggling creatures bound tightly to one another. He fought more than most, but it wouldn't last much longer. She could already taste him in the water. She switched tentacles, licking the suckers clean, savoring the flavor. One pulled free an arm and screamed "Relashio" in bubbly words and the two came apart. At last, he was still, ready to eat. The second, now freed from the first, continued to struggle. She had been patient this long. She would wait until this one, too, stopped struggling, then devour one and share the other.

Hunter was shocked by the cold of the water, the heat from the sweat lodge dissipating quickly. Coming up for breath, she brought to mind everything she'd ever learned about swimming and surviving in cold water as she filled her lungs, cast warming spells, then plunged beneath the surface once again, deaf to the cries from the shore.

She looked everywhere she could, systematically pacing in the water where she thought he'd gone down. _How can I lose him now after fighting so hard for him? Is there only one squid? You haven't swum in years, your oxygen capacity is lessened. You have to take some of the gillyweed, or you are sure to lose him._ She rose again, gasping and choking for air. Knowing how important it was to save enough for him, she took only a small swallow of the gillyweed, the foul taste making her choke again. At least she could now breathe beneath the water. She resumed her search, to no avail. _How long will this small dose last? Where is he? Is it wearing off already?_

 _You are too deep now, if it wears off you can't reach the surface. You can't see, the water is too dark. How will you find him? Your Magic isn't working well in the water. You need help._ Her heart called out, "Help me, help me find him."

They came to her then, her ancestors, breathing life into her, spreading out through the darkness. Old, wrinkled, with white hair, and young. The young one, a girl with long braids, silently took her hand, pulling her even further down. _I don't know if I can go further down,_ she thought. _Can you live if you don't?_ the little girl asked. _Come, follow me. I know the way._ Further down she went, trying to control her breathing, to possibly extend the time of the gillyweed.

The inky darkness of the depths of the lake gave way to a vision of disaster. Severus, limp in the arms of a giant, swirling squid. Her tentacles seemed endless, filling every place Hunter could see, long enough to disappear in the darkness of the murky water. Her beak was mashing, still chewing whatever she'd been eating before him. Now she was guiding him towards her mouth. Hunter exploded with all the water hexes and spells she could remember, using every bit of determination she had. The water dampened their effect considerably, but she was able to distract the squid from the second course of her meal. Hunter swam up, then down, away, attempting to confuse and anger the squid. Now directly in, to Severus, cramming the gillyweed into his mouth as she blasted Relashio spells at the tentacles at close range.

 _They aren't working! It isn't good enough. You've failed again. You couldn't save Phillipus and you can't save him. But at least I won't have to live alone. The squid will see to that. I will go to my death beside my lover, knowing I tried my best._

Hunter pulled herself to regard her lover in the dark depths, his pale skin contrasting against the black skin of the squid and the sparse light of the deep water.

 _But, Janiss… What will become of her without you?_

Then, there was yet a third one! The family would eat well tonight. The first had been tasty, greasy, smoky, and hot. A fermented flavor. The second had stopped squirming and the third would be an easy catch, just next to this one. She might only need to squeeze a bit more. This one wasn't swimming away, but swam directly into her tentacles, holding some kind of salad in her hands. She crammed the weeds into the other's mouth, then closed his mouth around it. He started moving again, blast him. She pulled both of them closer to her beak, no longer waiting. Further watery cries of "Relashio" from both the other two loosened her grip on them. There were other creatures in the water, pulling her tentacles apart in every direction, helping free her meal. She pulled the rest of her tentacles around, to grab what she could, but the new creature was strong, a fast swimmer, pulling them both upwards and away through the darkness. There would be no extras for her family today. She was satisfied with the first one, for now. Her mate would have to be satisfied with what he could capture himself and the little one was getting better at hunting every day. There would be other days.

Hunter swam, dragging Severus upwards, not knowing where the shore was, just wanting to be as far from this creature as quickly as possible. Once they reached the surface, she quickly oriented herself, slung an arm across his chest and cast a Strength spell to her legs. She began kicking mightily, speeding across the water. After a few kicks, Snape was able to regain his own breath and began to kick, as well, lightening her load. Spells from those on the shore began to reach them, further easing their swim, the water warming, their legs stronger, their breath easier. She released him, and they swam together, taking a breath with every stroke, until they had cast themselves completely onto the shore. Hands grasped arms as the crowd moved them quickly to blankets and towels on softer ground.

Cheers rang out from those on the shore and within the school as the Headmaster and Potions Mistress emerged from the waters together and swam back to the gathering at the sweat lodge. Lapu and Chowilawu each took one of Snape's arms and supported him to stand. They wrapped him tightly in a blanket sewn with eagles, knowing that any heat from the sweat lodge was long gone. Lizzie and Mansi did the same for Hunter, pulling her into an embrace, to warm both her body and her soul.

Professor McGonagall approached Hania with Professor Flitwick. "May we release the Age Line now? The students are very concerned for Dr. Hunter and the Headmaster."

Hania looked thoughtfully at Snape and Hunter. "Let's give this more time. It seems that he will recover, but the effects of a daemon removal are somewhat unpredictable." At his using the word "daemon," Minerva paled a bit and drew back, casting a shocked glance at Filius, who shook his head. They hadn't known. "Usually they go quite well, but Severus Snape is not an ordinary wizard and this was hardly an ordinary process."

Hunter accepted the warmth of the blanket and her friends, then turned from them. Severus was now seated on the ground, his head hung low as he continued his labored breathing. Lapu and Chowi retreated towards Hania and the fire. Hunter sat beside him. The others retreated.

As she sat with him, both of them still recovering from the watery ordeal, she began to ask questions, needing answers. "The daemon, you are free from it now?" He nodded, still exhausted. "Why did you do this? You were nearly killed. I was nearly killed! Hania and Lapu could have freed you, if you'd just let them." He made to reach for her hand, but instead, gestured back to the castle. At first she wondered if he meant to put on some kind of show for the students, to demonstrate to them how tough he was after appearing to be humiliated in his duel with Winder. Then she understood.

"You were protecting the students. If the daemon had escaped you, where would it have gone next? There is a whole school full of vulnerable souls." She didn't even need his nod to know it was true. He hadn't been willing to cast it out before, because it would have simply found another disaffected young person to haunt. He needed to be certain that it was destroyed completely. He'd intended to simply take gillyweed, then swim to the squid and turn the daemon over, but the squid itself had changed his plans, nearly taking him and her with the daemon. "The clothes, that's why you objected so much. You knew how your own pockets would release the gillyweed, but the cotton ones are more clingy." Her insistence that he wear them may nearly have cost him his life, with the pocket sticking shut at the critical moment. His plan had been to take the gillyweed and find the squid on his own time, but the squid had found him first, upending his plan. He planned to feed the daemon to the squid, then escape himself. He would have drawn on his full strength to escape, but couldn't breathe without the gillyweed.

Hunter gave silent thanks to her ancestors for their help in rescuing Severus from the danger she'd made worse and her from her own rescue attempt. Had she only had herself to draw on, they might not be here at all.

"We are ready now, Severus, you are free," she said, finding his hand. There would now be no further delays. They could marry after the end of the school year, as planned.

* * *

The silence was the most welcome part of the daemon having been cast out and devoured. Ever since Morgan's ultimatum, the daemon had become more noisy, more vicious, lambasting him constantly with ugly words and terrible visions, adding to those he conjured for himself. As the day drew closer that her friends would arrive and the sweat would take place, the constant ranting had become nearly intolerable, leaving him little ability to hear what was being said or even to taste his meals.

 _I'll always be here, Snivellus, always. A little sweating will make no difference to me, no more than snake venom or drowning did. I am as strong as you, so if I go, I'll take you with me._

He lamented that he couldn't share anything of his plans with Morgan, knowing the daemon would hear, as well. He had been doing his most difficult Occlumency for nearly two weeks, closing down the parts of his mind that constructed this plan and worked to execute it. Morgan was certainly unhappy with his distance during this time, and her friends likewise put off. She might be questioning her decision, but it couldn't be helped. The daemon had to be cast out without putting any students at risk.

 _Her friends all distrust you, as they should, if they know the truth about you. They will come between you, pull her away. And she will go. She's known them far longer than you. Some speak her language, know her history and culture, of which you are ignorant. You can't even read her letters without her help. Maybe she isn't telling you everything..._

There would be work to be done to repair these poor first impressions. But the new silence within his mind was a revelation in itself. He still had his own thoughts, memories, and guilt to manage, but to have removed this constant amplification of all of his worst was a relief. From here, he might begin to be the husband that Morgan Hunter, Kasa, deserved.

The Hopi magic was powerful, the daemon, so strong for so long, struggling to resist it. He had been surprised by the power of the sweat lodge, of Hania and Lapu. The pull of the Magic had been difficult to resist, its rhythm and color so different from his own, nearly overcoming his own Binding Charm to release the daemon before he could execute the second part of the plan. What more could this Magic do?

Snape turned his head to face Morgan. The daemon was out, and she was ready for their marriage. She believed this was sufficient, and perhaps she was right. But he could do more than what was merely sufficient. Perhaps she believed the daemon was the source of all of his difficulties, of the shape of his personality, the one stumbling block to their happy marriage. He knew better. Certainly the daemon was no help, but there was more, far more, that she knew nothing of. He could do more to be the wizard she needed, not simply sufficient, but more. And Hania's powerful Magic might do something for him he could not do alone.

After a long gaze, he silently shook his head, then signaled to Hania, Chowilawu, and Lapu. They came forward slowly. Lapu regarded him skeptically. They lifted him once more, Chowi offering water. Snape took the cup, painted with designs like Morgan's stoneware cauldrons, in both hands and drank deeply. The water was cold, like the lake, but refreshing and energizing.

"Brothers," he said. "Can you purify me, make me ready to be the husband Morgan Hunter deserves?" Hania nodded. One on each side, holding him up, they guided him back towards the tent.

The heat set in again, but gentler this time. With no daemon screaming inside him, he enjoyed the warmth, driving back the chill of the water. The sacred water moved through him, carrying with it pain and hurt. The scent of the cedar and oak wood swirled with sage and sweetgrass. Visions came now, Hania walking beside him, guiding him through a forest. The path diverged. Hania said, "think of your earliest childhood memory, for this is where you began your formation."

He brought this memory clearly and readily to mind, for he had stored it carefully in his cabinet since first being introduced to the Pensieve. He was about 4 or perhaps 5 years old, bringing his mother a bouquet of flowers covered in butterflies. He snuck up behind her as she was making his lunch. She turned, a rare glint of sunlight from the window over the sink cascading over her shoulder. Her face changed from questioning, to delight, to wonder and pride. She asked where they came from. He was too small then to know better, so he simply told the truth; he picked the weeds outside, with a cluster of gnats, and changed them for her. He sees the pride glow in her face as she tells him what he is, what she is, that he will grow up and learn more about how to be a powerful wizard. That his special, different from the others. She gives him a quick demonstration by having all the dishes clean themselves. But he mustn't let his father know, for he is not Magical. It would upset him. Even at this young age, he already knew not to upset his father. Thus began his first deception, hiding any trace of being something other than an ordinary boy.

He found himself very skilled at deception, very motivated to avoid his father's temper. For two years, he and his mother shared their secret, she teaching him more and more, Father never the wiser. Their tiny little home was always spotlessly clean, meals delicious despite having very little money. But eventually even that dimwitted man suspected and beat the truth out of his mother, screaming about his being "a freak like you." He refused to have any more children with her, in case they, too, would be freaks like Severus. Severus cowered on the other side of the thin wall, hearing every smack, every word, as she begged him not to leave them. He wondered why they shouldn't leave; surely his mother could make a living doing Magical things. Lots of kids in his neighborhood only had a mother. But she believed in Magical marriage, forever, even to a Muggle, even if she'd chosen wrongly.

Despite Severus's efforts to stay out of his father's way, Tobias Snape found every imaginable reason to beat him. No infraction was too small, no tiny show of disrespect ever overlooked. His mother refused to teach him any further Magic, especially curses, so he was forced to invent them, his first spell development. They were weak, usually just causing him to spill his drink a bit too easily or smash his toe into a table leg. Their home, once modest but tidy, now slipped into disorder and filth, his mother now distant and withdrawn, unwilling to use the Magic in herself for fear of Tobias's wrath. Severus longed for the day when he would become strong enough to take his true revenge. His father was as thrilled as he was when he received his letter from Hogwarts, making no effort to hide his pleasure to be rid of him for most of the year. He was so pleased to leave himself, he was confused by his mother's tears.

Quickly he learned of the penalty for underage Magic and the risk of expulsion from Hogwarts, having shown his housemates all the curses he knew, enjoying the admiration from people who were like him. He invested so much time and effort into jinxes, hexes, and curses, learning all that anyone else knew and continuing to create his own, their effects growing more damaging by the season, just waiting for the opportunity to wield them again his father. He utterly despised the man, so much so that he destroyed every mirror he had and every mirror in his dorm room, so as to never see Tobias Snape's face looking back at him.

Hania's resonant voice broke through his thoughts. "Choose one path, Severus. You may choose the warm memory or the others, but you must choose, only one."

One path had flowers, butterflies, sunlight, all the helpful side of Magic to make life better. The other, switches for beatings and shattered trees from mis-aimed hexes. He chose the flowers, feeling the warmth of his mother's embrace as he did so.

"We all have good memories and bad from growing up, but we make a choice every day which the emulate, which to amplify. We are passive vessels to be filled as children, but childhood is now over. Every person has good and bad within. You choose your path yourself by deciding which pieces will dominate. Here is another split on the path. Think of your school days. Remember your best and your worst memories, then choose."

Snape's worst memory, the events leading up to his calling Lily a Mudblood, were easy to recall, his having stewed on those for decades. The best? Far more difficult, for there were so many more bad days. Perhaps it was when he got top marks on his Potions N.E.W.T. Horace Slughorn had been impressed, as had Dumbledore, though his thoughts at the time had been obscured by his plans to practice as poison-maker for the Death Eaters by then. Slughorn had made some suggestions about apprenticeships, but he had wanted to start earning money and influence right away and had offers waiting based on his student potions, regularly diverted from Slughorn after having been graded. Hogsmeade weekends had been quite profitable for him. His memory of getting better marks than Potter, Black, or Lupin on the Defence Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. also gave him smug satisfaction, though this was tempered by the question of why that mattered now, not only for the time that had passed, but also because every one of those wizards was dead.

The real best day was in his third year, when he and Lily were still friends. He had found himself more and more isolated, his circle of friends now down to her and a few of the most thuggish witches and wizards of Slytherin. They were mostly with him to learn more spells, because they were too dim to devise their own. Severus detested their dull minds, but enjoyed the payments his spellwork was bringing in. He looked forward to every time they would study together, for she was clearly both beautiful and bright. She hadn't yet begun to castigate him about his friends, though she had mentioned she agreed with his earning time in detention for throwing jinxes in Arithmancy. He dismissed her concerns at the time, telling her it was just a little one and that Vector was overreacting, but it side-lined his plan to ask her to the Halloween Ball as his date. By the time they had another chance to get together, she was already going with that creep Quirrell from Ravenclaw.

"Which path do you choose?" Hania asked.

Snape's countenance was immobile. "It's too late for that discussion. I chose wrongly then, a choice which cannot be undone."

"You are correct, that cannot be undone. No one can rewrite the past. What memory do you choose to hold in your heart, which to fill you now? This choice you have, every day."

One path had tall trees with straight trunks and abundant golden-red leaves. The other had twisted trees and briar patches. He walked to the trees with the red-gold leaves and felt the warmth of friendship there.

"For the next phase of your life, bring to mind again your best day and your worst as a young man out of school." Hania could not have known how bad his worst day was, holding the lifeless body of Lily, all of his hopes that Dumbledore might be able to protect her dashed, his very soul cracking with the knowledge that his own thirst for revenge and power had caused her death.

"There is no best day during this time."

"There must be, think harder." He did think harder and could only recall fighting, deceit, malice. He made poisons for a living, and became quite wealthy, barely caring who would wind up in St. Mungo's or worse. Death Eaters or other, it mattered not. He plotted attacks on the Ministry of Magic, ruthlessly doling out curses and hexes as it suited him. Then she died and every sick lie of Voldemort was revealed. Dumbledore allowed him a chance a redemption, at a steep cost. He couldn't leave the Death Eaters, so he remained, stretched between both worlds, a useful tool to both Voldemort and Dumbledore, constantly trying to determine where his own interests lay, until he simply gave up on his own interests and merely endured, forming and executing plans in an endless cycle.

"There is nothing. That was a time of great darkness in my life, a time I would prefer had never happened."

"But it did, and it has shaped you, been a part of you. Think harder."

 _This man clearly does not know me, at least not Severus Snape, the loyal and feared Death Eater._ He continued to sift through the memories of that time for anything other than hostility. He had hated everyone then, Death Eaters, Voldemort, the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore, the Ministry, himself.

Then a small thought occurred to him. The day he'd started altering the formulas for his poisons. He had decided it was too much now. He'd begun to procure weaker ingredients, cheaper preparations that were less active. He harvested ingredients at lesser strength, at the wrong times and seasons. He would cut them with inert substances, never letting on to his staff that they were now making irritants, purgatives, and emetics. He'd always hired obedient staff, rather than intelligent Potioneers, who would follow his instructions without question, because they weren't sharp enough to understand what they were making. When buyers would return, he would publicly castigate whoever had been responsible for the potion, each of whom would tremble and insist they had been careful and done it just right, as always. He would refund the cost, but never fired any of his staff. That had felt good, not just in saving some lucky wizard or witch from grave injury, but equally in foiling the Death Eaters. It wasn't much, but it was the best thing he could recall.

The forest again, but this time, giving way to a swamp. Neither path was very clear, just a slight thinning out of the grasses in places, with a few stones for stepping. One was toxic, smelling of rotting meat, the other merely revolting and slimy. So it was for that time in his life. He chose the slightly less toxic path.

As he walked through the swamp, steam and heat rose up, surrounding him. His breathing became labored. The steady voice of Hania rose. "Shall we take a break, Severus? There is further to go, and you need to cool."

"No, I am not finished."

"You won't last to finish if you don't cool. Let's go." Strong hands gripped him beneath his arms, lifting him and pulling his depleted body towards the entrance to the sweat lodge. He emerged into reviving chill, still supported by Hania and Lapu. Morgan was sitting, surrounded by her friends, casting a worried look at him. She tried to rise, but her friends held her down. He heard bits of their words. "He'll be fine." "Hania won't let him be hurt." "Lapu had done this a hundred times."

Her concern pained him. He wanted so much to go to her, to say himself that he was doing well. But he had given himself over to Hania and Lapu. If they released him, he would go. Otherwise, he would continue under their guidance. They led him to Chowi, and another cup of sacred water, pouring through him like a Potion, driving out old haunts, his own smell foul and disgusting. He nodded to them and they returned once more.

Seated by the stones, the heat quickly brought him back with Hania and the swamp.

"We have come a long way in a short time, Severus. You have chosen what you will hear, what you take from your past and what you will let remain behind. Now you must face your future. What will you build from this point forward? What do you truly want?"

His walking had become difficult, then impossible. Now he found himself dressed in a heavy cloak, with many pockets filled with something heavy, weighing him down, making further progress impossible. He dropped his hand into the pockets and withdrew their contents. Each one held a glass orb containing a vision in purplish swirls, vibrating in his hands. Each one fully formed, painfully real: himself as the most powerful Death Eater, having defeated Voldemort himself; his being married to Lily, richer than Lucius once had been, Malfoy now coming to him for his needs; his besting of Sirius, Remus, and James in duels, them groveling in defeat and shame; his being married to Morgan, their traveling to the desert together, his learning her Magic and she his, both of them surrounded by students; his being elected Minister of Magic but alone, even Harry keeping his distance except at holidays; his overseeing a small Potions shop, making useless, routine preparations for ordinary witches and wizards. He could choose only one vision, only one path. In turn, he took each in his hand and studied it, rolling the crystal balls in his hands, feeling their weight, watching the scenes swirl and change. Some were not possible, some not desirable, but others within his reach.

"Is this a prophecy, the future foretold? Or simply what may be possible?" he asked.

"The only person you truly control is yourself, Severus. No matter what you may choose or want, others have the power to make decisions for themselves. No future is ever ours alone to determine. Your actions can make a future more or less likely, just as before," Hania replied. "No Magic, yours or mine, changes that."

One by one, he drew them out and smashed each against the rocks, the swirling purple vanishing, leaving only the lingering scent of age and decay and the ground covered with broken pieces of futures that were not to be, except the one with Morgan. This one he kept, holding it, feeling its warmth and power.

"I have now unburdened myself of other, lesser futures," he said to Hania. "A life with Morgan Hunter is my goal, my destination. Now that I have chosen to strengthen and magnify whatever good may remain within me, will I have her at last?"

Hania replied. "No, she is not your reward."

"Then what is?" he asked, knowing the answer before he finished the question. Hania had the disturbing pattern of saying things very similar to what Dumbledore would say.

"Living with joy and purpose, without being mired in the mud of your past, is your reward. As for Kasa, she is not a prize to be awarded, not your right for having suffered. She has her own free will, as she always has. That is not how marriages are made. You reward is in now being worthy of her, of being her equal."

Severus Snape could imagine no greater achievement.

Hunter could see on his face the transformation as he drank deeply from the cup Chowi offered, before he sat down next to her. The others retreated, giving them at least auditory privacy. They sat silently for some time as he continued to feel the water coursing through his veins, driving out more of the remnants of his years of enmity, rage, guilt, remorse, and regret.

At long last, he took her hand. "Will you have me, Morgan, as your husband?" Her kiss then told him all he needed to know.


	48. Chapter 48: Leaving

**Thank you, patient readers. It's taken a good deal of time to finish this chapter. Busy spring and summer, what can I say? I've also been working hard on getting this right, hope I was successful. Enjoy, just a few more chapters to follow. And a shout out to my reader from St. Vincent and the Grenadines. Had to get out a map!**

 **Lastly, reviews are most welcome. More to come, hopefully before the fall! DN**

Although he longed to spend the rest of his days held in Morgan's embrace, this was not the plan, according to Hania and the wizards and witches of Sedona. After a respectable amount of time, the parties drew nearer to the couple and bid them rise. They did so and allowed themselves to the guided back towards the castle, each step a little stronger than the one before. The students were still gathered at the open windows, watching as flowers blossomed across the hillside, followed by swarms of butterflies. The students debated if the magic was from the Sedona contingent, Professor Sprout, Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, or Dr. Hunter, but everyone agreed it was a great improvement to the campus and wondered why it hadn't been done before.

Upon reaching the rear entrance hall, jammed with students still gawking, Chowi spoke, in voice strong enough to be heard above the murmurings. "Our Purificants must now continue their recovery in the company of their sisters and brothers until the morning sunrise." Harry saw a shadow fall across Snape's face. Harry wondered who would be considered Snape's "brothers and sisters," if anyone. Then Hania and the other wizards gathered around the Headmaster, the witches around Dr. Hunter. "Brother Severus, where shall you rest tonight?" Lapu asked. Snape searched the crowd until his eyes met Harry's. With a slight gesture of his hand, Harry understood that he could join them, not as a godson, not as a student, but as a peer, a brother of their number.

He made his way through the field of shoulders, trying hard not to grin like a fool. Up close, he could see more clearly the effect the sweat had had on Snape. His shoulders drooped and he was still being assisted in standing. But there was a light to his eyes that spoke of not of irritation or disgust, but clarity, as though he were seeing Harry for the first time. One of the Sedona Wizards, who gave his name as Corey Burroughs, approached Harry, explaining that they would be staying with the Headmaster until the morning, or longer, if necessary, and asking if there was anything he would need. Harry was still in a bit of a state of shock, and shook his head. Harry joined them, trailing the still-weakened Headmaster, surrounded by the Sedona Wizards and Professor Flitwick.

He had expected them to make their way to the Headmaster's office, as this was the only place Harry was used to seeing Snape privately. He had never given a second thought to where the teachers stayed at night, imagining them just arriving at breakfast from their classrooms, so when their direction was towards the dungeons, he gave himself a mental kick. Of course he would have an apartment of some kind, personal space for himself.

Snape's personal chambers were deep in the dungeons, past the Potions classroom, the storeroom, and his old office. Harry struggled to imagine what they would be like. His old office had been lined with creepy things in jars, but he hadn't done anything novel with Dumbledore's office since he'd taken up residence there, other than to store most of the little magical devices in the cabinets to clear the desk. Perhaps he had inherited the Potions office, as well, and simply never made the effort to change things, not caring the slightest about anything other than practical needs, supplies for his craft. Or perhaps he kept his private chamber as a refuge, with comforts that he otherwise seemed not to notice. The rumored Snape fortune might have been spent there on a luxurious hideaway.

"It's good that there are rooms in the dungeons for your godfather," Burroughs noted to Harry. "The coolness will help him get his body back to normal. Cooling won't have any effect on the spiritual effects, only the physical," he added reassuringly. Harry wondered just what had gone on to Snape's spiritual side in the sweat lodge. Snape had an inner life, obviously, but he had never seemed, well, spiritual in any way.

The light of the day faded, as did the warmth and the fragrance of the flowers. Soon, Harry found himself in the unchanging depths of the dungeons, dark, damp, dank, sour. Though nothing had changed in the seven years he'd been coming down here for Potions lessons, the low ceilings now seemed unbearably claustrophobic, the dimness and shadows more forbidding than before, especially in contrast to the bright sun of the day and the riot of blossoms now covering the grounds. Once they had walked past the Potions classroom and labs, Snape's storeroom, and Dr. Hunter's office, Harry didn't know quite what their destination was. He'd always been so glad to leave, he'd never pondered what lay further along the dark corridors, nor where Snape's own chambers might be. He glanced among the Sedona wizards, but their faces were impassive.

When the air had become particularly stale and the walls nearly fully covered in slime, Snape stopped before a dark, undistinguished door. He waved his wand and muttered an unlocking charm and the sound of half a dozen or more locks releasing echoed through the darkness.

Harry entered after the rest of the group, being the youngest present. Their modest number crowded the small room, which was lined with bookshelves, filled with volumes clearly labeled from the library. How many had once been Snape's own, it was impossible now to discern. Most had two labels, the second being a bold red "R," designating them as from the Restricted section of the library. Harry scanned their titles with curiosity: _Paralytic Spells and Their Countercharms, Poisonous Plants of Northern England and Scotland, The Evolution of European Magic in the New World._ How useful had that book been, given that Dr. Hunter was of the Hopi Nation, not New World European?

Snape lay down on his bed, a small, plain frame topped with a faded quilt and a few rather deflated pillows. Chowi still had a supply of water, which he poured before Snape asked, setting the cup on the bedside table.

"Harry," Snape called tiredly. "Get some dinner for our guests." Harry made for the door, thinking of the rather long walk back to the kitchens beneath the Great Hall. He heard Snape snap his fingers, and a House Elf appeared, notepad in her hand, looking expectantly at the Headmaster, who gestured toward Harry.

Harry quickly overcame his initial disorientation and requested dinner for the assembled. What would be restorative, as well as appealing to everyone? He requested chicken orzo soup, venison chops, and roasted squash, fruit plates, orange juice, wine, and chocolate pudding. Once the House Elf vanished again, Flitwick conjured chairs for everyone, then pressed the walls out further, the thick rocks scratching against one another in resistance. Flitwick was more powerful, and soon the small, cramped room intended for one was sufficient to house the group comfortably.

The food arrived shortly thereafter. Hania, Lapu and Chowi could barely eat, however. Despite his tired appearance, Snape peppered them with all manner of questions about Hopi magic. Harry was also interested to know more, but the questions Snape asked were beyond his level. Things about circles, seasons, directions, the flow of energy, and temperament. Hania finally suggested that they continue this discussion in Sedona, in a future visit. "If you aren't too busy, that is," added Lapu with a wink that Harry couldn't quite understand.

Snape allowed the Hopi wizards a chance to eat by turning his questions to Corey Burroughs and the other Sedona wizards of European and African origin. It was as if he felt he needed to squeeze every possible bit of information from them before the opportunity slipped away. Harry had long since lost his train of thought, the talk of centering on education and organization, as well as new spells and countercharms.

He remained with him all night long, finally falling asleep in a bed Snape transfigured from a book entitled "Sacred Magic of the Hopi, Volume 7. Ceremonies of Life Passages." As he waited for sleep to come, Snape's questions droning on and on, he was surrounded by the smell of old book bindings and dreamed of being atop a broad, tall plain. His parents were there, Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom and Gran, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Hermione's parents, dancing to the rhythm of drums, welcoming him back with the others of his class. They all had with them the animals they had hunted, rabbits, deer, foxes. They had proven themselves well in the hunt and were now considered full members of the community. Harry looked around with pride at his friends and felt a shift within himself as he rose to take on this new phase of life.

* * *

It was a brilliant late spring day, warm air coursing through windows and down corridors, sunshine pouring through stained glass creating glowing visions in every classroom and the Great Hall, bringing with it the full promise of summer. A summer filled with sunny, lazy days and lacking in exams and homework. Small glimmers even reached the Potions labs, creeping through the high windows and brightening the normally dismal atmosphere of the dungeons.

The House Elves had begun their spring cleaning, putting in extra effort to prepare for the wedding that was to take place at the castle after the school year ended. Brass sconces that might never have been polished before now gleamed. The suits of armour, wincing in shame by comparison, insisted on a high polish, as well. Spiders were forced to crowd into the attics or take up residence outside as every corner of the castle was swept free of webs, dust, and dirt. Even the figures in the portraits had begun to compete on who was better-dressed or had the whitest teeth. Glamour Charms were being flung around like parchments after the end of exams while a blackmarket in gilderfloss had emerged. A much-needed refreshing of the owlery would have to wait until the students had taken theirs home, leaving only the Hogwarts owls.

Practical skills that graduates would need as witches and wizards out in the "real" world predominated in all the upper level classes, now that N.E.W.T. exams were complete. Professor Flitwick was taking them through a variety of cleaning and cooking charms, Professor Vector was teaching them how to assess contracts using numerology, and Professor Sinistra, whose class now began unconscionably late, focused on the influence of the stars and planets on the best times to ask for a raise at work or to issue a marriage proposal. Apparently, in the month of May, in the middle of the day, was the worst possible time; this fact was met with giggles.

Potions projects consisted of the several sessions that were required to produce a decent Wolfsbane Potion as well as Doxycide, a potion of whose usefulness Harry was very aware.

Ginny managed to catch up to Harry the following week, after a long session of Advanced Transfiguration in which they had learned to convert themselves into various items of furniture or bulky textiles, like down coats, thick quilts or curtains, in case they needed a quick disguise.

"Harry, where have you been?" she said in mock accusation. "I haven't seen you in the library or the common room in days. I miss you!"

Harry felt rather put on the spot, with her charging at him like this in the corridors before lunch. He'd been thinking of other things, and needed a moment to catch up to her thinking. She missed him. That was heartwarming, at least. He had been surprisingly busy, given that he had expected to spend the final two weeks of his Hogwarts career outside in the company of friends doing very little that was developmental or productive. He wasn't the only one who was busier than expected. Neville's year-long apprenticeship in the greenhouses had been rewarded with being conscripted by Professor Sprout to plant a huge number of flowers and bushes all over the school grounds. She'd enlisted nearly every student in the upper year Herbology classes and assorted volunteers for the job, as well. The entirety of the castle and grounds now blossomed with oleander, belladonna, daphne, and rhododendron, among many others. Harvested blossoms bedecked every window sill and table, floral perfume filling the air and chasing away the dank, moldy odors that were more typical of the school. Copious clumps of gillyweed were cultivated along the shore of the Black Lake. Vines that had been destroyed in the war were regrown. Clematis and ivy tendrils stretched up the old and newly-repaired walls, further healing the destruction of the previous year. Between wandwork, sun, water, and warmth, the grounds hadn't looked better since the Headmastership of Dame Phyllida Spore.

"It's Snape!" Harry snapped. Snape had finally started to demand more time with him. Harry had wanted this earlier in the year, but now had his mind on other things. How like the Headmaster to finally pay him some attention, just when he was fully ready to simply goof around. "All of a sudden he can't get enough of lecturing me about college, and my future plans, and how to pay for things, and to not be stupid about money, and about how to rent a flat, and how to set up House charms, and all kinds of other boring, practical things. It was like he's trying to squeeze in every last piece of advice he can before I graduate." After having let their relationship lie mostly fallow following their Binding, now Harry was called to the Headmaster's office nearly daily. Every time they met, he left with another pile of "Adult Wizard" things to do, scraps of parchment with the names of rental agents to see about flats, insurance brokers to talk to about death and accidental spell injury insurance, advocates, the name of a good book about home protection charms and domestic spells, the essential Magical houseplants and how to care for them, even one on how to cook without a House Elf. Between what he was learning in classes and the loads of extra information Snape was suddenly trying to dump into his brain outside classes, Harry now had a bit of a panic, realizing that there was a LOT about the adult Magical world they weren't taught in school, that you would presumably get from your Magical parents. How was Hermione going to do all this, with Muggle parents? He'd have to share some of his new information with her. Chances were, though, she'd learned all that her first year from the library. He would need to help Mr. and Mrs. Weasley this summer at the Burrow to get in some practice before he was out on his own. Ginny would have a good laugh watching him and Ron practice laundry charms.

He didn't mind telling Ginny or the others about most of what they talked about. What was harder to discuss were the changes he was noticing in the Headmaster. He was still domineering and demanding, but also more openly concerned for Harry, taking so much of his time to focus on his future. Harry had begun to sense that more and more of Snape's advice was directed towards his own benefit, and not as much not embarrassing Hogwarts or himself as his godfather. This was a significant shift.

Snape would still become impatient with Harry if his mind wandered (which was frequent with such dry subjects and such sunny, warm days), but then stop, rub the bridge of his nose, and bring his tone down to one of mere annoyance, perhaps bordering on tolerance. His face might soften the smallest bit, from furrowed brow and narrowed eye to pensive. The Headmaster tended not to interrupt him as much when he spoke and might actually have been listening when he was speaking. Harry felt emboldened enough to ask questions, few of which were summarily dismissed, but pondered and thoughtfully responded to. Snape would never be to Harry like Sirius was, but from time to time, there may have been some moments of warmth.

Those moments were nearly exclusively those of silence. Despite the vast quantities of knowledge Snape was seeking to impart to him, a surprising amount of their time was spent in silence. Some bit of instruction would bring Snape to a tale of his own younger days, using his experiences as an example, either as a mistake to avoid or as an example of the benefit of skeptical distrust. Perhaps his first apprenticeship and salary negotiation, or a particularly poor choice of a flat. Once the lesson of his story was told (never sign a contract without first casting a Revelio to look for Disappearing Ink and learn enough Plumbing and Water Charms to assess the quality of those systems for yourself), he would stop, looking into the distance, or, more disconcertingly, directly at Harry, and remain mute until Harry shifted in his seat, which seemed to break whatever spell had come over them. Snape would then draw a large breath, shuffle through the parchments, then find some other topic they had not yet covered.

He had been so ever since his sweat. As the days rolled on inevitably to the end of term, the conversations had become a little less like lessons, a little more like an exchange. Harry, too, felt time slipping past him. How much might he have learned if things had been just a little bit different between them? He could only move forward from here, unless he was to use the Time Turner. But who knew what other effects that might have. He decided against it, but instead remained with the Headmaster until he was dismissed. He hoped his friends would understand, despite his own surprise that being in Snape's company might actually be something he would choose.

* * *

The morning of the Leaving Feast, after the hasty breakfast of oatmeal and pumpkin juice typical of this day, Harry walked with heavy footsteps to the Headmaster's office, as he had been ordered to do. He'd already packed his things, but it had taken him far longer than usual, as he ran his fingers over the worn and fraying edges of his house tie, sweaters, uniform robes, and scarf. His Firebolt was safely tucked at the bottom of his trunk, along with the map and the cloak. A few scraps of parchment, his books, some quills and a bottle of ink rounded out the set, along with the invitation to return that he'd received last summer. He ran his fingers over the ink; if any residue of the writer's intent had been present, they were long gone. The parchment and ink both were ordinary now, with no presence. He tucked the item in his Advanced Potions textbook and closed the lid. Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville were unusually quiet as well, no doubt thinking the same as him. This was the last time they'd share a room, the last day of Hogwarts, not yet the first day of what lay beyond.

Now outside the door, facing the gargoyles, he spoke the password ("moonstone"), entered, and rode the spiral stone staircase upwards.

He expected Snape to be busy with some stack of school business, mired in parchments or books, writing busily, giving the impression of having been interrupted, despite having summoned him, as was his habit. Instead, the desk was clear. Snape rose as Harry entered.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to one of a pair of deep upholstered armchairs opposite the desk. Harry did as commanded, as Snape took the other.

Harry had no idea what he was supposed to say or do. His summer plans at the Burrow were firm, as was his starting at Felbridge in Defence Against the Dark Arts in the fall. He had made arrangements to see a scout from the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team along with both Ginny and Ron near the end of summer, but those were the extent of his plans. Did Snape want to talk about more internships or apprenticeships? Remind him again about how to make a decent offer on a flat? What could possibly be left they hadn't already discussed? He had no idea.

Today, he had arrived hoping this would be over as soon as possible, so he could get back to whatever fooling around was starting in the Common Room. Now, in the presence of his godfather, Harry began to feel like he was losing a part of himself by leaving this place, this wizard.

Snape sat silently, long legs crossed, fingers steepled at his mouth. Snape knew there were words he was supposed to say, some kind of parting wisdom he was expected to impart. He was loathe to spill open his emotions in some kind of sentimental stream; he expected that Harry felt the same. Yet, something was supposed to happen to mark this moment. The end of school days and the beginning of the next phase of Harry's life. A phase that it was not at all certain for some years that Harry, or any other of them, would live to see.

Silence filled the space between them like a fog. Harry didn't know what to say or do. Their two lives had been intertwined since before he was born and would remain so until death. What now, the day of his Leaving? Snape, for his part, shifted in his seat, grimaced slightly, then exhaled, suddenly standing. Harry snapped to attention, as well.

"I shouldn't keep you," he said dismissively. "Go finish your packing or you'll be sure to leave things behind."

Harry paused, trying to think of something, anything, to capture his feelings, to express his complicated evolution through the year. He had expected by now to feel more at ease with his godfather, after all they'd been through, especially lately. He'd been present at his revival, yelled at him about pursuing Dr. Hunter, been with him after the sweat, and spent countless hours in this office, being lectured about their Binding, rent, university, money. Professor Snape had been less insulting, less intimidating, less punitive as the year had progressed, he supposed, but being actually at ease with him might take a while. "Yeah, packing. Still got a lot to do," he echoed uncomfortably. "See you at the Feast, Severus."

Snape winced slightly at this familiarity, but nodded. And Harry was on his way.

* * *

Then the hour of the Leaving Feast arrived. Trunks had been packed in great haste, as though no one had time before that morning to get this job done. Compacting spells were the most popular, as suddenly everyone seemed to have acquired far more books, quills, and jumpers than they'd arrived with in the fall. Floo network addresses were shared, college, apprenticeship, and job placements announced.

Harry sat at the Gryffindor House table for what might be his last time. The high ceiling was filled with sun and a few stray clouds, with birds migrating in great flocks to the north. The walls were hung with house banners, which fluttered with the passage of the ghosts through them. He brought to mind his first night here, the terror of this strange world made better by the presence of a new friend. This Magical place had somehow become ordinary in his time here, as had so many other Magical things.

"Wonder when we can get out of here," Ron grumbled through a mouth full of roasted chicken and peas. "The Express won't wait forever."

Hermione served herself another helping of boiled baby red potatoes covered in steaming butter. "Don't worry, Ron. The train won't leave without you."

"And if it does, you can see if the Headmaster has a spare room until Mum and Dad can get up here to get you," Ginny said as Ron glared at her. "Might take a few weeks, though. But you'd get to know each other well."

Further speculation on Ron and Snape was temporarily suspended due to the arrival of the dessert courses. A five-layer chocolate cake topped with roses and butterflies competed with a layered trifle with peaches, cherries, and blueberries topped with whipped cream. For a time, only the sound of spoons on dishes and satisfied bellies could be heard.

As the last remaining traces of cake and trifle were vanishing into mouths, Professor Snape rose from the staff table and walked slowly to the lectern.

"At least he doesn't have a handful of parchments," Ron noted hopefully.

"I doubt that will limit him much," Neville noted. Ron nodded glumly.

Silence filled the hall more completely than the noisy conversations had. The dishes vanished, leaving only the students themselves, waiting for his speech. The staff, likewise, sat in respectful silence, the sounds of his boots on the stones and the swish of his robes alone in the air.

His face was grave, though untinged with anger or impatience. His voice, usually a mixture of gruff declamation and sarcasm, now had an unusual note of contemplative softness to it when he and Harry spoke together in his office. Here, though, his old habits of speech seemed to return.

"We now come to the Leaving," he began, his voice resonating in the hall despite his not shouting at all. Harry was reminded of the first words he heard from Snape, in Potions class. His voice had been a tool that he'd wielded like a weapon, savagely cutting through students like a knife through boomslang skin. Still his tone was low. As he spoke, his eyes scanned the tables, taking in each student one after another.

"Together, this year and in the years before, you've all learned an impressive amount of Magic, guided by your able teachers and supported by your friends. Defense, conjuring, transfiguration, brewing, divining, and spell-casting, all these you've explored. Some you've mastered, others remain a work in progress." Harry groaned inside. Long-standing habits may be difficult to change, but he'd felt that something within Snape had changed for the better this year, especially since the sweat. Now he seemed to be back to where he'd begun eight years ago.

Snape continued, a sneer creeping around his mouth. "For those about to exit the halls of Hogwarts, I would echo what I and the rest of the Hogwarts staff have been telling you for the past 7 or 8 years: Rise to your potential, for doing anything less would embarrass yourselves, but more to the point, embarrass the staff, myself, and institution of Hogwarts."

Harry hung his head and rolled his eyes. How many times had heard this speech or some variation of it, always when he was on the embarrassing side of his "potential." After all he'd seen this year, and Severus Snape was still in classic form, castigating the entire school. Not even for things they'd done or not done, but in some future, as yet undefined but certain disappointment. He glanced to the staff table, who must surely be as disappointed by this tone for the Leaving Feast, usually a festive occasion. All their faces were impassive, except for Dr. Hunter's. She looked at Snape with admiration. What could you expect, after all? If your fiance can't be your unconditional champion at all times, who could?

"At least the food was good," Ron muttered. Neville remained as difficult to read as the teachers, while Ginny gave a wan smile. Hermione, as ever, remained at attention.

"I will continue to follow your progress even after you leave these grounds, keeping an eye on you as you progress in life, assuming that progress is, in fact, your trajectory. I will also be measuring your success, to see if you've made good use of what you've learned in the past 7 or 8 years." At this, Harry noted a number of raised eyebrows on the staff table, particularly Professor McGonagall, but no other outwards signs of agreement or dissent. Snape paused and looked out across the faces, many of which did not hide their obvious dissent. The sneer, so familiar, continued to build around his mouth as he continued.

"How will I measure your success, you might ask, should you be among the few who care about such things? How will you know you are doing well, living up to the standards set by Hogwarts and myself? You might look to your bank account, your accumulation of gold." Now Hermione could not hold back her look of disgust. "Heaps of galleons, sickles, and knuts can bring a feeling of satisfaction and superiority. Should you find yourself with a bit extra, I would encourage you to remember what made your success possible. No, not your own talents, hard work, or the advantages of a wealthy family. This school. Do consider a donation." The stony faces were unmoved.

"Perhaps you'll strive for the accumulation of power, enjoying the ever-increasing range of your influence and titles. Perhaps you'll seek important places in the Ministry of Magic, teaching, or as a master of apprentices. At some time, you may experience the pleasure of watching another squirm with dread, knowing you hold the key to their misery or joy." Harry had now moved from mere annoyance himself, to an acute feeling of betrayal, particularly as the Slytherin table grinned maliciously. Snape was appealing to the worst of their impulses, encouraging their basest motivations. Then he added, "If life doesn't serve up your opportunity to rule over others, you can always have children of your own." Harry cast a glance at Hermione, who was slack-jawed with disbelief, then to Dr. Hunter. Snape had worked so hard to chase her off for most of the year, now he was making heartless statements about exerting one's desire for power against one's own children. She would surely be livid, but she remained impassive, her attention still focused on him. The rest of the staff looked on the verge of revolt, casting one another worried and angry glances.

"Fame, too, could be yours. Yes, imagine your face on magazines, your names in the papers, on the covers of books. Invest in your good looks or cultivate a lack of concern for factual accuracy and fame may come quicker. Perhaps followed in short order by money and power."

"Land, material goods, fame, any or perhaps even all of these could be a measure of success." The staff now seemed on the verge of outright revolt, only Morgan Hunter grinning in admiration. She was losing a lot of respect in Harry's eyes. Was she really the gold-digger the papers had implied? Did she not know Snape was nearly knutless?

Snape stopped, glaring smugly out across the crowd until the angry murmuring had ceased. "I can assure you," he said silkily in a low voice that commanded attention, "those who would seek to measure their success and the success of others by these measures will certainly suffer my displeasure."

Moments of silence passed as everyone fully took in this surprising statement. Staff and students alike cast each other confused glances. Snape remained silent, but his sneer had become instead a look of wry humor, a look few had ever seen on the Headmaster.

"Many before you have measured human value by galleons, sickles and knuts, only to discover that money is a fickle and unsatisfying companion. Even those with plenty find that friends won by attraction to money flee quickly when a better opportunity presents itself, as it always does. With only money as your goal, you will find yourself in a never-ending pursuit of more, eternally dissatisfied and restless." Harry hadn't noticed how tense he'd become in the first part of Snape's speech, but now felt his shoulders releasing some tension and resuming their normal slouch.

"The problems of those who seek ever greater power as well as those who seek to retain power whatever the cost have played themselves out in the past few years. You can see the damage done yourselves in this very castle, with its broken stones and missing friends and family. But love of power can take more subtle forms, in lesser situations. Bullies of all stripes find pleasure in discovering the vulnerabilities of others and exploiting them for their entertainment and advantage, even in the adult world. The lure of persecution of the weak can be strong to those who have been the target of such bullying themselves and seek to take revenge on other innocents, so easy to do, rather than take on their oppressors, a much more formidable task."

Harry scanned the faces of those nearby him to see if they were understanding what Snape was meaning as much as he was. Snape was getting personal. His own wide-eyed astonishment was shared by the others, as they sat silently and still. Snape continued, his voice building.

"And fame. How many famous witches and wizards have lived up to their reputations? Very few, as you well know. Fame is fleeting, leaving the formerly famous with a sense of loss and abandonment."

"There are many ways to measure success in the Magical world. But the true measure of success is found in the strength and depth of the circle of love that surrounds you."

Ron groaned audibly.

"Here we go," he muttered. "He'll be talking for hours, now that he's finally found someone who can tolerate him." Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and Neville all cast him a look of reproachment.

"Careful, Ron, or you'll be losing the one who can tolerate you," Harry said, with a meaningful glance at Hermione.

Snape had stopped speaking for a moment, still looking to the students. His eyes rested from time to time in between students, at empty chairs.

"Yes, love." His voice now rose, becoming stronger, more urgent. Everyone in the Great Hall sat stunned, including the staff. "For this is what we were fighting for in the war and what we shall continue to fight for," he said forcefully, punctuating his words with his fingers on the lectern. "The love of family, of friends. Those with us, and more so, those no longer with us. For the moral obligation now rests with us, to make good on the sacrifice they made. To finish the work they started and build a world built on the values they cherished. Equality, friendship, and love."

Now his voice dropped once again. "Surely, to fight for love seems much easier than the fight for money or power or fame, but to find love and nurture it requires far more time, patience, and skill than any other pursuit. Love obtained by money, power, force, or potions is false, a mere shadow of the real thing. We may allow ourselves to be deluded into believing these are real, but the truth will out eventually. Real love must be earned, cultivated, and valued to a greater degree than money, fame, or power. It cannot be taken, only given, and must never be taken for granted. But the returns on giving love are so much greater than the interest earned on a monetary loan or the quid pro quo of negotiations, for love never grows more than when it is given away. It can, in fact, grow only when given away." Harry now found himself grinning. Dr. Hunter either knew his speech beforehand or had far more confidence in Snape than he did. It would take time to cultivate trust in him, but he would continue to try.

The Headmaster continued. "Be open, my fellow witches and wizards, to love. To give and, if you are not only worthy but also fortunate, to receive. Never lose hope, for love can arise from the most unexpected of people and from the most hopeless of situations. To all of you, I wish you success, measured in peace and love."

The Headmaster waved his wand in a great circle above his head, releasing thousands of butterflies from the vines on the walls and the flowers on the tables. Wherever they landed, more flowers opened. Those that landed on robes left behind a tiny corsage or boutonniere. Those that landed on chairs left behind a pink carnation. Several landed in Dr. Hunter's hair, leaving behind a circlet of belladonna. Delighted gasps filled the hall as student delighted in the colorful dance everywhere in the room.

"Just like after the sweat lodge," Neville remarked in awe. "Who would have thought it was Professor Snape?"

The Headmaster then swung his wand towards to the doors, which crashed open with a bang into the Entrance Hall, then out onto the lawn. The butterflies took their cue and flew out in a swarm, followed by a renewed blossoming of the plants across the grounds. The carriages were lined up there, piled high with trunks and drawn by thestrals adorned with cypress, willow, and rosemary branches. Younger students squealed and ran into the sun, summer term having just begun.

The older students remained, giving hugs, handshakes, and back slaps all around. House affiliations seemed to fade away, as Gryffindors bade farewell to their Slytherin friends and Ravenclaws wished their Hufflepuff companions good luck and to keep in touch. The staff lined up at the door out to the carriages, with an unusual amount of liquid in their eyes as the students shook their hands and departed.

Professor Snape brought up the rear, ushering out the last of the stragglers, reminding them that the trains would not wait even for graduating students and they best get going or be conscripted to remain here for an extra month or two, assisting the House Elves in cleaning the kitchens and himself in preparing the reptile supplies.

Harry approached and offered his hand, which Snape shook with a small trace of a smile. "See you in a few weeks, Severus."

"Try to keep yourself and your friends out of trouble until then, Harry," he replied.

The first of the carriages had begun to roll down the road to Hogsmeade then, so Harry said no more. Ginny was waving from a carriage near the end. With one last wave, he boarded the carriage and was gone.

Snape's eyes followed the carriages as they circled the lake until they vanished through the gates into the village, rattling in a cloud of dust toward the train station. The bright sun must have fogged his vision, accustomed as it was to many years in the dungeons. Morgan grasped his hand as he covered his eyes, and he allowed himself to be led back inside.


	49. Chapter 49

**Thanks for staying with me, readers. Enjoy this extra-long chapter, two in one. Please, please, please favor me with a review.**

 **-DN**

Severus Snape awoke well-rested, a feeling to which he was beginning to become pleasantly accustomed. In the dimness of his chamber, he recalled the many nights lying awake, haunted by the voices of the daemon, and of his own mind echoing that monster even when it retreated. He would awaken feeling as tired as when he lay down, knowing the creature would return at the first sign of challenges or vulnerability. Now with a clear head and a full heart despite the early hour, he felt hope return, stay, and grow. The future, once a vision only of emptiness and pain, opened to him. Better still, the future involved Morgan Hunter, a most amazing witch.

The warmth from the sweat remained within him, despite the weeks that had passed. He found it easier and easier to recall his better memories, to bring forth what positive use he'd been, and to then be a more supportive godfather to Harry, a more welcome companion to Morgan. He'd enjoyed perhaps more than he should have his own ironic speech at the Leaving Feast, the gasps and mutterings as he implied his embrace of the worst possible values, though it also revealed the degree to which it was easy for everyone (save Morgan) to believe the worst in him still, despite all they had come to know about him. Time, he supposed, would be needed to change hearts and minds.

He had endeavored from that point forward to bring forth his better side, but his own habits had been as difficult to break as the negative habits of mind of those around him. Transfiguring black flies into moths and butterflies, presenting Morgan a daily bouquet of flowers he'd grown in the fields on the grounds, this was child's play, her amused delight a treasured reward. Not scowling constantly, not being irritated by nearly every human interaction, this was more difficult. For now, with the school quiet, populated only with himself, Morgan, Janiss, her guests from Sedona and a few remaining House Elves who hadn't yet begun their summer holidays, there were fewer reasons to scowl. He continued to grill the Sedona contingent about as many aspects of New World and Hopi magic as the days would allow, practicing new spells, making more and more New World potions, and reading every book they'd brought with them. He looked forward to his honeymoon in the desert for several reasons, but learning more of these remarkable witches' and wizards' magic in their home environment was on that list.

For their part, the Sedona witches and wizards were devouring the Hogwarts library, practicing new spells and charms on one another in the classrooms, and consuming a frightening amount of his and Hunter's stores making every European potion possible. They would certainly need to acquire more stock before school resumed in the fall. The smell of spleenwort and pond slime emanating from Hunter's new classroom on the 5th floor brought back pleasant memories of his own student days, spent practicing better extractions in Slughorn's classes.

Harry would be along soon, he expected, so Snape quickly put a dressing gown on over his nightshirt and got into his slippers just as he heard the knock on his door. With a wave of his wand, the locks unfastened and Harry entered, still looking a bit tousled from sleep, clad in his own pajamas and robe.

Harry had arisen only minutes before, having taken a room in the guest wing near the Sedona wizards. It was exceedingly odd to sleep anywhere in the castle other than his four-poster in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory, but he supposed those wings had been emptied and closed off for the summer. The silence of the castle, both due to the early hour and the absence of students and staff made for a disconcerting walk down to the dungeons. Each footstep echoed off the walls, despite his wearing soft-soled bedroom slippers. Not only did he awake in the wrong place, but he was heading to the wrong place. His stomach reminded him that he should be heading to the Great Hall for breakfast. His feet ignored his stomach and turned down the dark stairs. He cast a Lumos spell with his wand, as there were no torches lighting the way down here. He gave a knock on the correct door, whose series of locks snapping back offered the only welcome.

"'Morning, Severus," he mumbled, crossing the threshold into the small dim room. He looked to Snape for approval but only earned himself a scowl. He ran his fingers through his hair uselessly. Snape grunted and waved his wand and muttered "Orthocapillium." Harry's hair, for perhaps the first day in his life, arranged itself in tidy layers, a very strange feeling indeed. He wondered why Snape had never used this on himself. He was clearly quite capable of casting the charm. His hair looked like it always did, stringy, greasy, and limp.

"Have you eaten this morning?" the Headmaster asked, pacing the small room, hands clasped behind his back.

"No, sir. You said to wait," Harry replied, as his stomach gave a growl that proved his honesty.

"Good. Have some of the corn cakes that Morgan made." Snape offered him a golden round corn cake, the top of which had split open like rose petals. It was still warm and fragrant.

"Are you going to have the other one?" he asked, biting into the yellow cake, crumbs spilling down his front. He fumbled to keep from making a complete disaster of Snape's chambers, popping each tiny morsel back into his mouth. Snape handed him a plate and gestured to a chair beside the table. Harry sat, continuing to eat as the older man moved about the room, his eyes darting from place to place randomly.

"I've already had 4 this morning. Those two I saved for you." Snape actually looked a bit embarrassed and shrugged. "I couldn't help myself. They are wonderful."

Harry understood what he meant. They certainly tasted good, sweet and savory in equal measure, the warmth filling his mouth and the scent in his nose. Once they reached his stomach, however, he felt a glow from within. He could feel confidence and security increase and flow within him to his fingers and toes. No wonder these were exchanged on the wedding day. He reached for the other and ate it slowly, savoring each bite more than the last. Snape had eaten four, and yet still he walked the room like a caged tiger.

Just as he swallowed the last delicious bite, there was a knock on the door. Snape sprang to the door, opening it in an instant. The Sedona wizards and Professor Flitwick crowded into the room, which Snape had allowed to return to its usual modest size following the evening after the sweat.

All of them wore beaded blue shirts over brown trousers and beaded leather shoes. Hania had a cloak sewn with four eagles surrounding a garden planted with sage, tobacco, and corn. Chowi's cloak had a deep fringe and was decorated with clouds and rivers. Lapu's featured flat-topped mesas with stars. After morning greetings were exchanged, Corey handed both Snape and Harry bundles of clothing. Unwrapping the reed mat from around it, Snape found a white cotton robe woven with various plants, including an unmistakable design of gillyweed around the hem. A belt, brown trousers, and beaded moccasins completed the outfit. Harry's was similar in style to the other wizards', his cloak featuring a lightning bolt, a circle, a wand, and a triangle.

Snape had taken him through the day's events at least 10 times since he'd arrived back on campus the week before after a two-week reprieve at the Burrow. By now he felt like the day was already a memory, given the many times he'd pictured it in his mind. For a small, private ceremony with only him, Janiss, Flitwick, and the Sedona witches and wizards as witnesses, there were an incredible amount of details to keep track of. As he donned the clothes, he ran his fingers over the patterns. Memories of the events, his battle with Voldemort, the Elder Wand, the Sorcerer's Stone, and the Invisibility Cloak, came to mind, each now framed in a different way, knowing so much more about why things had happened and how his and Snape's lives were intertwined since before he was even born. Here he was, on Snape's wedding day, as his godson and best man, as a son, a peer, and perhaps a brother. Only 14 months ago, none of this would have been possible to imagine, neither in substance nor in how he might have found himself here, nor how Snape might have arrived here, either. His hope of not losing another person in his life, coupled with Professor Trelawney's vision, had set these events in motion, but this outcome was far more than he could have imagined at the time. Honestly, he could only have imagined simple survival then and little beyond that. A future was difficult to fashion, and this future in particular would have had no part of his imagination.

Snape emerged from his bedroom, dressed in the white garments, his hair now tied back in a limp ponytail, his nose seeming, if possible, even larger than usual.

Hania spoke. "It is nearing daylight. We need to go, my brother." He led the way out, followed by Snape, then Harry, then the parade of the other wizards. Snape stopped suddenly and turned with a start to Harry.

"Do you have the ring?" he demanded.

"No," Harry replied. Snape looked ready to explode. "That's for later, remember? Not for the morning." Snape took two rather labored breaths, then turned back and resumed his march up the corridor. Chowi and Corey exchanged mirthful glances as they made efforts to keep up with the long paces of the Headmaster. Flitwick was practically running.

Despite it being the longest day of the year, they emerged from the castle before sunup. The skies glowed with the promise of a new day yet to begin, the air filled with the sound of birds greeting the impending dawn and with the scent of the myrtle and gardenia that now grew all along the path down to the lakeside. The lake had a mist atop it in the chill of the morning, lending a damp vestment to the waters, still and glassy.

Once they reached the water's edge, the stones now nearly overrun with gillyweed, Harry turned around to see Dr. Hunter emerge from the castle with Janiss, surrounded by her phalanx of Sedona witches. Like Snape, she was dressed in a white tunic with a wide belt. As she drew closer, he could see that her robe was covered in butterflies flitting about in a garden planted with ivy, orchids, and lily-of-the-valley. Her hair was also tied up, in two squash-blossom whorls on either side of her head. She wore several necklaces of carved beads, as well as bracelets of turquoise and silver. Janiss, dressed in a long blue tunic decorated with hyssop and white roses, carried a wide shallow terra cotta bowl painted with holly and ivy.

Harry watched Snape as the group approached, his eyes never straying from his bride, a warmth in his eyes greater than he'd ever seen before. She did likewise, her smile growing with each step. His mouth quivered and his hands shook. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. At last she arrived and took his hand, stopping at least his hand from shaking.

Janiss brought forth the bowl and placed it on the ground near the edge of the waters. With a wave of her wand and an utterance in a language Harry didn't understand, Mansi swelled the bowl to the size of a wash basin. Lizzie drew from her pocket a large lump of some white solid that gave off the scent of lavender and rosemary. Chowilawu once again drew water from the lake into his pitcher and spoke charms over it.

As the first rays of the sun broke over the mountains and burst through the mist, the Sedona witches and wizards began chanting and dancing, their feet drumming on the ground in rhythm with their voices. Hunter and Snape approached before the basin hand in hand and made to kneel down when Harry first heard the shouting.

* * *

Severus Snape knew that his first act after his marriage would surely be to murder Professor Flitwick. The only thought that held him back now was the certainty with which he did not wish to spend his wedding night in Azkaban. Now the warmth in his eyes was more like a cannon of fire aimed squarely at the tiny wizard.

"I couldn't help it, Severus. Everyone kept asking about their invitation and I just couldn't turn them down! How would that look for the school? And there never seemed to be the right time to tell you." he squeaked in equal parts defiance and desperation, his wand hand twitching.

Snape was about to reply in the most forceful way imaginable about just how he should have replied, his hand gripping his wand, though it was still in his pocket. For now.

Then Hunter burst out laughing as more than a hundred people sprang from the castle. She gripped Snape's arm tightly, partly to comfort and calm him, and partly to restrain him from his planned attack. She felt his muscles tense and relax in turn as she maintained her grip. "He meant well, Severus," she said softly. "It is a joyous occasion that everyone wants to share with us."

"More like a spectacle that everyone wishes to gossip about later." He felt his teeth grinding. But to whom would they gossip? Everyone was there. Every student, many of their parents, most of the Ministry including Shacklebolt, Winder, and Alexander, all the Hogwarts staff and their spouses, Hobble, Slughorn, and others. The Weasleys, including their daughters-in-law, the Malfoys, even the Boneses and the Lovegoods. And Hagrid, Merlin's pants. All the while protesting.

"Sorry, I couldn't see wha' was 'appening, yeh know. Can't miss this, too important!"

Harry assumed (correctly) that Snape was nearly biting his tongue off as he stood quivering with anger.

"Waquini," Hunter said, her hand still gripping his arm. "It's fine. I just hope there's enough food."

At least there was no evidence of Rita Skeeter. There was nothing to be done, for these (invited by Flitwick but unwanted by Snape) guests couldn't simply be hexed back into the castle, as least not without significant negative consequences. Snape attempted to regain at least his outward composure as the mob made their way noisily down the meadow and joined the outer circle of those gathered. The small group of Sedona witches and wizards regained their own composure as the additional guests each found a place to stand and began to settle themselves. Once silence had overtaken the crown, the singing and dancing resumed.

The mist was by now dissolved by the rising sun as Severus Snape and Morgan Hunter knelt on either side of the basin. Janiss unfastened the elaborate squash blossoms of Hunter's hair, releasing their length down over the top of her head. Lapu untied Snape's hair, which likewise fell forward as he knelt. Mansi held out the white soap as Chowi poured water over it, suds rising as she worked up a lather. She handed the bar aside and ran her soapy fingers through both their heads, then down the length of their hair, twisting it together. Again and again, she repeated the gesture, until it was no longer clear where Hunter's hair began and Snape's ended. She then stepped back and Chowi returned with his pitcher of sacred water to rinse the soap out. Harry handed Snape a towel and comb, as Lizzie did for Hunter. They rose and, hand in hand, bowed deeply towards the rising sun.

Morgan snuck a sideward glance at her lover, now husband, admiring his profile in the first rays of the dawn. She gave thanks to her ancestors for bringing her to this place, to this moment, saving her and Severus from the squid, but also helping guide her footsteps to take the job here and help her open her heart at times when she was ready to leave, to believe in her gift of sight (which had for so long been as much a burden as a gift), despite her feeling like she was losing her mind at times. She looked forward to giving Minerva, Sybill, and Aurora some gifts from Sedona on her return from her honeymoon, as their guidance had been helpful along the journey.

The sweat and the evening that followed had changed her in ways large and small. The flow of the sacred waters through her had revived her in ways she hadn't realized she still needed when she'd made the decision to leave the light and warmth of the desert and come here to the damp, dark, and cold Scottish highlands. Escaping the land had been easy, but escaping herself impossible. The new place and new clothes only served to obscure the fact that she herself needed to be made whole again from within. She had felt the blessing of Phillipus on her new life, the support from her ancestors, and now the warm embrace of her friends, as she bound herself for life once again, hopeful that their lives would be long together and pledging herself to be his protector in all ways.

She wondered how long the effect of the water would last, as she replaced it with ordinary water and wine. She found that the heat of the sweat stayed with her long after the waters had passed through. Doubt had been replaced with confidence, both in Severus and in herself. All those inner voices, telling her she was losing her mind, that she was weak, that she'd made a mistake in coming here, were now quiet. She would be a competent protector to Severus and Janiss. When Severus had started with his big speech at the Leaving Feast, she had no doubt it would turn around at some point, and it was amusing to watch him manipulate the scene, as he always did. If only everyone could experience the renewal of a good sweat. These highlanders could use it. Perhaps this was magic that Hania, Lapu and Chowi would teach her. If she had any spare time during her honeymoon, she might ask to learn more. Maybe an exchange could be established between the two schools, visiting faculty… Her mind began to whir as she planned a series of guest lectures and classes between the two institutions. Then she reminded herself that she was supposed to be giving thanks to the rising sun. She settled her mind, closing her eyes and drawing a deep breath, the scent of the morning filling her.

The sun continued to rise across the faces of the assembled. Mansi raised her wand first, uttered "Oma," and an arc of glistening water shot out over the couple and into the lake. The others followed suit, with calls of "Aquabenediction." The spray of water caught in the morning sun, casting rainbows across the lake. Harry was sure he saw a few merpeople beneath the surface, but perhaps it was only a trick of the light on the water and the kelp beneath.

Then cheers went up from the guests as Snape and Hunter turned back to the crowd, smiles a mile wide on their faces.

"Is that it, then?" a voice called out from the crowd once the cheering and clapping had died down somewhat.

Snape cast a challenging look at Flitwick. If he had invited all these people, he would need to figure out what to do with them next.

Hagrid reached down and lifted Flitwick up so he could he better heard. "That was the Hopi ceremony, but there will also be a European one later in the day. For now, everyone is welcome to join the wedding party in the Great Hall for breakfast."

The wedding breakfast was a marvelous spread of meats, cheeses, and pastries, including especially corn cakes, though these were now shaped like hearts instead of roses. Dr. Hunter and the witches had spent nearly a week grinding the special corn for this occasion, in between sessions in the potions lab learning about European potions, defensive spells, transfiguration, and northern astronomy. Although the Hogwarts Magic seemed very old-fashioned to her friends, they enjoyed knowing more about European Magic. Like Hunter, they saw readily how some Old World Magic was better, and some New World and Hopi. With care and study, joining them together could make them stronger than any alone. Even the corn grinding seemed to benefit from the use of older mortars and pestles. The cakes they made were some of the best they'd ever had, bringing with them the warm glow of the desert sun.

After the breakfast, the wedding party retreated once again for a much-needed rest, Snape and Harry to the dungeons, Hunter and Janiss to the staff tower, other guests to either their rooms or the library and courtyards which had been opened for the occasion.

Harry fell asleep on Snape's couch almost as soon as his feet left the floor, covered in the woven cotton blanket decorated with deer Corey Burroughs had lent him after the sweat.

All too soon, he was shaken awake by his godfather. "Harry," he said simply. "It's time."

Harry blinked his eyes open, then rubbed them and blinked some more. The figure standing over him was like Snape, except not. His piercing gaze was now softened, his sneer more of a grin, his hook nose large but straight, his forehead, usually furrowed with irritation, now smooth. His usual greasy hair, now clean and dry, was fuller and somewhat wavy. Even his teeth, visible as he spoke, were whiter and straighter than before. "Severus?" he muttered, sitting up, still disoriented. "What did you do to yourself?" he blurted out before thinking. He clapped a hand to his mouth. "Sorry, sir," he said quickly. "I didn't mean…"

"I requested some dental spells from Miss Granger before the Leaving, if that's what you mean," he said gruffly. "Painful as a bubotuber boil, but I think Dr. Hunter will be pleased." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "If you'd like, I can try them on you."

"No!" said Harry, jumping off the couch. "I mean, I think mine are okay for now. Maybe some other time, when it's not your wedding day." Snape grunted and shrugged. "Alright then," Harry said, pressing down his brown trousers from the morning. Looking at the time, he noted there was only an hour to go before the next ceremony. "Let's get you dressed."

Snape raised his eyebrows. "I am sure to be capable of dressing on my own, thank you. Please keep your attention on your own attire and I'll take care of mine."

Harry got his dress robes out of the closet and headed to the bathroom. Mrs. Weasley had insisted on his trying them on at the Burrow weeks ago, and then spent what seemed like hours casting all kinds of alteration spells, lengthening the trousers, pulling in the waist, broadening the shoulders of the robe. All the while, she chattered with Harry, who soon discovered that she was really just chattering with herself.

"What a day that will be. You are so lucky you'll get to witness it. I never thought, well, none of us ever thought… Severus Snape of all wizards. I wonder what they'll do for the ceremony. Really, he didn't want anyone else there?" Her voice continued to rise with indignation with each question. "The staff? Members of the Order? Surely Arboreus Hobble will be there? Not even him? Just her friends, you and Flitwick? Who is Janiss?" Then, with a lowered voice, she asked "What's she like, Harry, this witch that's he's marrying? I can't imagine…" Harry wasn't sure what she meant by that, nor quite how to answer.

"She's really nice," he said, thinking that was a very lame way to describe the tremendous presence of Dr. Hunter. Mrs. Weasley snorted. He had heard of her kindness and skill from her students and seen her mastery in the potions lab, but he'd also seen her virtually on fire and about to hex Snape to pieces after his duel on the Quidditch pitch, felt the searing spell she'd sent into the wall behind him as he'd approached. "She's as skilled as Snape in Potions and maybe even better than him at dueling." Now he had her attention. "She doesn't take nonsense from anyone." Mrs. Weasley nodded approvingly.

"I always knew he'd find someone. He needs someone to look out for him, doesn't he?" she added dotingly. "She sounds like a peach."

 _An explosive, incendiary peach,_ Harry thought. "Yes, she is," he replied.

She had reminded him to order a new undershirt and socks, as his old ones were worn out and exhausted and no amount of magic powder in the washer could revive them any longer. Thankfully, she'd assumed he would forget (he did), so she ordered them herself. He found a note in his case from her. " _Send Professor Snape and Dr. Hunter warm wedding greetings from the Weasleys. We are so sorry we can't be there."_ Harry grinned, imagining Flitwick trying to hold off Molly Weasley when she had gotten a notion in her head. She probably flooed her way to every Magical family in Britain to pester him, too. Poor Flitwick hadn't stood a chance.

Once he'd finished dressing and given up hope of ever getting his hair in any sort of order again, he exited the bathroom and waited for Snape to emerge.

He hadn't known what to expect. Seeing the Headmaster in the Hopi clothing this morning had been a sort of expected surprise, having seen him dressed for the sweat lodge a few weeks back. He had gone right back to his usual frock coat and trousers for the final week of term, and Harry wondered if he would wear this for the Old World, European ceremony, or the more traditional flowing wedding robes worn by most wizards. He tried to picture Snape dressed like Professor Dumbledore and simply couldn't merge the two in his mind. Harry reminded himself that Snape was not "most wizards" in any sense and that whatever he chose would certainly be his own.

The door opened and Harry was certain Morgan Hunter, as well as the rest of the female guests, was going to swoon. Harry stood open-mouthed as his godfather entered the room.

"Madame Malkin suggested it," he said hastily before Harry could utter a word. "Said Morgan would like it. Cost me all of my school clothing budget for the next three years." His long fingers fiddled with the cuffs and buttons, adjusted his jacket, and smoothed his trousers self-consciously.

"She was right, sir," Harry said.

He wore a dark green velvet cutaway coat with two rows of polished brass buttons. A purple waistcoat was evident above and below it, with black covered buttons. The white shirt was covered at the neck by a dark green silken cravat fastened with a silver pin in the shape of a snake. Dark fitted trousers were tucked into the tops of tall polished boots. The cut was perfect, like a glove, emphasizing his height and giving the novel impression of broadness to his ordinarily rounded shoulders. An open robe of flowing black silk completed the suit. His hair, usually greasy and stringy, now shone with a high gloss and was arrayed in waves combed back from his face.

"I hadn't intended to make such a spectacle of myself for a gaggle of onlookers, obviously." Snape gritted his teeth and fidgeted with the hem of the waistcoat.

Harry grinned mercilessly. "They aren't 'a gaggle of onlookers,' Severus. They are your friends. Your guests, even. And they are going to love seeing you this way."

Snape grunted, then looked at Harry. "Orthocapillium," he said, drawing his wand. "They may even enjoy looking at you, now, too."

Silence filled the space between them. There was about half an hour before they needed to make their way upstairs and join the other men of the wedding party, then wait for the bride to arrive. Snape sat, then stood again. He gestured for Harry to sit, but he remained standing any way. Harry wasn't sure what to talk about.

"I've got the ring right here, sir," he said, patting the box in his pocket.

"Good," Snape grunted. "May I see it again?" he asked.

Harry drew out the box and opened it. Resting on a bed of blue velvet was the ring, a heavy silver band set with a large polished turquoise flanked by two emeralds. Inside was inscribed with "Yours forever, S." Snape picked up the ring and waved his wand above it.

"May I remain always worthy," he said. Then " _Fidelio Perpetua."_ He placed the ring carefully back in the box and snapped it shut. Harry returned it to his pocket, feeling it pulse with loyalty and devotion against his chest.

"Harry," Snape began.

"Yes?" Harry said after a moment.

"I…" "I'm pleased you are here."

Harry waited for him to finish the thought until it became clear he already had. "Of course, Severus. I don't leave for Felbridge until mid-August…" He trailed off. He hadn't meant " _thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule to come to my wedding_." He meant " _I'm grateful you survived._ " "Thank you, Severus. I'm please to be able to be here with you." Harry hoped a hug was not imminent, and was pleased when it wasn't. Snape offered his hand, which Harry took. Snape covered his hand with his other and there they stood. Finally, Snape released Harry with a grunt.

"Our guests, all two hundred of them, await, Harry. Let's not be late."

* * *

Snape stood behind the oaken doors to the Great Hall, for the last moments of his life as a single man. The day hadn't been at all like he'd planned, a small ceremony for just themselves, Harry and Janiss, Flitwick, and the Sedona contingent. And yet, it was precisely as he'd planned. A witch more spectacular than any he could imagine was willing to take him as her husband and today they would be Bound. First by her traditions, then by his. The Old World and the New, joining together to be stronger than either alone. After all he'd been through, surely he could face the Great Hall full of wedding guests. Surely.

He straightened his waistcoat once more, loosened his collar and cravat a bit, smoothed his trousers, and arranged his robe. Harry snorted behind him, then stepped forward and opened the doors without warning. Blast it, it was time.

* * *

Hermione was sitting next to Ginny, flanked by both their families. Once the word had gotten out that everyone was welcome to come, as Flitwick had run out of patience with Molly Weasley's insistence that "you can't leave out the Cattermoles, they fought in the war, too!" nearly everyone in the Magical community made hasty plans to attend. No longer able to keep up with the number of invitations necessary to send out, he simply told her she could invite anyone she chose, as long as she kept them quiet about it and let him know how many at least a week in advance so he could order the food and expand the guest wings if needed.

Hermione had brought her parents, as they had never been able to get to the school before. Now that she was a full-fledged witch, she was able to get them to the station, where extra carriages were added to the usually quiet train from London to Hogsmeade which on this occasion was filled with joyous witches and wizards dressed in their best and greeting each other warmly. The village had been packed the night before with every inn and pub stretched to capacity, raucous gatherings carrying on well into the night. Flitwick had assured everyone of a place in the castle guest rooms tonight. She was hopeful, as there were a lot more people here than she had expected. The Great Hall was charmed to capacity.

When the doors opened at the rear of the hall, her head and the hundreds of other heads turned. The music hadn't even begun; it was at least 20 minutes ahead of the appointed time. A hush fell over the crowd, followed by stunned silence.

"Ginny, look. Oh my word…" Hermione clutched Ginny's hand in amazement as she twisted to get a better view.

"What.." Ginny started, then turned, gasped, looked away blushing, then turned back again. "What happened?"

Everyone in the crowd was stunned to see the very handsome sight of the Headmaster marching down the center aisle, his sallow skin shimmering in the moonlight, his hair now clean and combed back, standing straight and tall, followed by Harry Potter (with tidy hair) in well-fitted dress robes, Professor Flitwick looking dapper in dress robes, and Lapu, the tall Hopi wizard from Sedona, now dressed in European formal robes.

"Madame Malkin has worked more than magic," noted Mrs. Weasley. "That's more like a miracle."

The conductor cleared her throat with a cough, snapped up her wand and quickly got the musicians' attention. Musicians began to play (where had Flitwick gotten musicians on short notice, Snape wondered, then answered his own question as the full Hogwarts choir began to sing).

As he strode down the aisle, he took note of the Hall, renewing his vow to give Flitwick a good hexing once the time was right. It wasn't the crowd, as he was aware of the spectacle that had become his wedding since sunup. It wasn't the music, which was inoffensive at least. It was the decorations. Morgan had organized the Hopi ceremony and left the European ceremony planning to him and Flitwick. Snape had claimed he had no opinion as to the decorations and therefore left this up to Filius' good judgement. As it happened, he did have an opinion, and it wasn't positive.

Despite the fact that the sun still shone outside, the cavernous hall had been charmed as night, with a full moon glowing. Stars carpeted the ceiling and bats flew overhead periodically. Lanterns adorned the walls and the center aisle, which was flanked by rows and rows of witches and wizards. All of which was fine. What he objected to were the flowers. Midnight bluebells covered nearly every surface, hanging in clusters on each chair and forming a canopy at the front of the room, under which, apparently, he and Morgan were to take their vows. Bat bogey hex? Jelly bones jinx? Langlock jinx? The possibilities were endless and the mental pictures delightful.

Faces full of amazement and joy turned his way, even more than had been there at dawn. The House Elves were seated on the front rows, all dressed in whatever robes they chose, mostly green or turquoise. The Malfoys were near the front, of course, dressed in their ostentatious finery, Draco having clearly filled out more into manhood.

As he mounted the raised end of the hall, more typically set with the staff table, he looked out across the mobs of spectators. As his Best Man and witnesses joined him, he began to catalog the families. The Weasleys (missing Fred), Susan Bones (but not her aunt Amelia), Andromeda Tonks with little Teddy (missing nearly everyone else dear to her). The list could have gone on for an hour, cataloguing who was there and who was missing. He could scarcely find a single family that wasn't reduced in some way. His dread of seeing this crowd turned to sorrow for those who weren't there. Many decent witches and wizards had died, both for a just cause and for a losing cause, led astray by a powerful and cruel madman. The list was too long. Mad-eye, Dolohov, Lupin, Black, the Potters. He had survived, and like his students, was now charged with making the world they had fought for. A world of equality, fairness, freedom, but most of all, love.

This year, despite the cessation of the war, hadn't been one of celebration, but one of somber acknowledgment of loss and the ongoing work of rebuilding and healing. This day, intended for he and Morgan alone, had grown beyond its original purpose of celebrating their joy in one another to celebrating the joy of the surviving Magical community. For indeed, everyone who had survived really was there. For the personal celebrations after the war had been two-sided, one of relief of survival, the other of attempting to comfort one another despite loss. Today, however, was for celebration. Other than Parse Winder and Hypatia Alexander's hasty nuptials, there hadn't been another wedding in the Magical community the entire year. Morgan had been right; they gathered to share their joy, but for reasons that went quite beyond another ordinary wedding. This wedding would signal the end of a full year of bereavement, the first true community celebration.

Snape raised his wand and the faces in the crowd grew apprehensive. More than a few hands twitched near wand-pockets. He traced a broad circle above his head and announced "Accio Luciferae!" Nothing at all happened, and puzzled guests looked at one another skeptically.

Ginny elbowed Hermione in the ribs. "What's that spell for? Sounds like he's Summoning the devil!"

Hermione looked thoughtful then irritated. "I don't know! We never learned that one in Charms. I'll ask Professor Flitwick later at the reception. He should know."

Ginny nodded. "It's just weird that I haven't seen anything come to him. You'd think you'd see whatever it was by now. Can you Summon courage or something like that, something you can't see?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think so. The Summoning Charm is only for objects. Besides, if Professor Snape needed courage, he'd be more likely to use a potion for that." Ginny nodded in agreement, but continued to be on the alert for something to have been Summoned.

Still, nothing obvious happened. The Headmaster grinned slyly and pocketed his wand, waiting silently for some effect, like the others.

After a few moments, there was a buzzing sound like the of beating wings in the Entrance Hall, followed by the entrance like a lightning cloud of thousands of fireflies, drawn up from the dungeons by Snape's Summoning Charm. They flew to the front of the Hall, then dispersed among the flowers and candles, filling the space overhead with a blinking light show. Cries of delight were heard from many, and what might have been relief from Professor Flitwick. Hands on wands relaxed as the glow filled the room.

Snape knew Morgan would not arrive for some time, as he'd arrived early, being unable to wait any longer. He stood silently as Harry and the others remained behind him, letting the music and the scene wash over him. He repeated his vows silently.

Before he'd finished them the first time, there was another disturbance at the back of the hall. Flitwick's eyes grew wide and he signalled to the orchestra conductor, who quickly cut off the musicians and started a new piece, a melodious march.

The doors to the Great Hall opened once again, and Janiss Ames appeared, looking lovely in a rose-colored robe. Behind her were Lizzie and Mansi, each in matching robes of blue. They each carried a bouquet of belladonna.

Snape gaze remained expectantly pinned to the large oak doors, eagerly anticipating the loveliness of his bride. Instead, Amarantha Oglethorpe appeared next and strode confidently down the aisle, scooping out handfuls of midnight bluebells from a copper cauldron and tossing them as she approached. She grinned as fireflies landed on the flowers of her crown, glowing like a halo. Reaching the front of the hall, she mounted the stairs, then came over and gave the Headmaster a hug. A smile stretched over his face as he gave her a little kiss on the top of her head.

"This is a pleasant surprise, Miss Oglethorpe."

"Thank you, Professor Snape," she said primly with a smile. "It's nice to see you, too" She scampered over to the line of witches across from him.

That smile still in place, he turned once again to see Morgan Hunter, his bride, making her way down the aisle. Her robes were like rainbows, iridescent silk with a heavy silver clasp, her hair in a braided circlet covered in flowers, now gathering fireflies. She trotted up the rows of guests like she was climbing the spiral stairs to his office in order to yell at him for interrupting his class. The guests hastened to stand as she moved quickly up the aisle and mounted the front platform.

"Hi, Waquini, I couldn't wait any longer," she whispered to him as she grasped his hands and smiled.

"Neither could I, Kasa."

Flitwick darted off the front stage to get the High Warlock, who expected not to be needed for 15 more minutes, at least. He arrived shortly thereafter, bumbling his way in, still tucking in his shirt and pulling up the shoulders of his robe, joining them beneath the canopy of midnight bluebells, now accented with the glow from the fireflies.

The Warlock dug deep into a pocket to draw out a wrinkled piece of parchment, which he then pulled flat. Putting his wand to his throat and uttering "Sonorous," he began to speak as the crowd fell silent.

"We come together today to witness the Binding together in marriage for all time of Morgan Hunter and Severus Snape. This ceremony is permanent and cannot be undone except by the death of one or both of the participants. Is there anyone present who knows of a reason why they should not be Bound?"

Snape and Hunter held their breaths, waiting for some fool from somewhere to lodge an objection. Would it be someone from her past or someone from the Ministry? The Warlock scanned the room, looking for any witch or wizard with some remark to raise. The pause, which was probably only 30 seconds, felt like an eon. The moment passed uninterrupted, so the Warlock continued.

"A Magical marriage is for a lifetime, and requires of its consorts the utmost in loyalty, devotion, love, union, and equity. Patience, clemency, and a little deafness are also useful. Morgan Hunter and Severus Snape have indicated their willingness to enter this contract and must assert this publicly to seal the bond."

The Warlock then withdrew a large scroll from within the folds of his robe and unrolled it over the table behind him. First Hunter then Snape stepped forward to sign the bottom of the contract with a red feather quill. They then resumed their places, facing on another.

"Rings, too, are a symbol of the Binding of marriage, given to show eternal devotion. Please place your rings upon the contract."

Harry sprang forward, withdrawing the ring box from his pocket, as Janiss withdrew one from hers. Harry opened the box for Snape, who withdrew the glimmering band, pondered it for a moment, then placed it on the parchment. Janiss did likewise for Hunter, who placed a wide silver band wrapped around a turquoise center on top of Snape's ring. The Warlock touched his wand to the rings saying "Aewfaestu on Acnesse." A silver tendril emerged from the wand, surrounded the rings with a bow, then slowly vanished.

Molly Weasley squeezed Arthur's arm. "Ah, the old way. Brings back memories of our day," she said, her eyes moist and handkerchief at the ready.

Hunter lifted the heavy silver band from the parchment and reached for Snape's hand. As she slid the ring onto his finger, she said "With this ring, I promise that you shall never again walk alone." As the ring slid into place, he felt the warmth of the stone and the strength of her heart.

Snape then took his ring from the table and slid it onto Hunter's outstretched finger. "With this ring, I pledge my unending respect, honor, and love to you." He could feel the promise of fidelity from the ring in her hands.

The Warlock turned to Hunter.

"Morgan Hunter, can you pledge yourself for all time to this wizard?"

Hunter grasped Snape's right hand in hers. Looking steadfastly into his eyes, she said "Severus Snape, you are a wizard of extraordinary power, heart, and soul. I pledge all that I have, all I shall ever have, all that I am, all that I shall ever be for your protection and benefit, from now until the end of time."

"And Severus Snape, can you pledge yourself for all time to this witch?"

Never breaking the bond of her gaze, he said "Morgan Hunter, your delicate power has bewitched my mind and ensnared my senses. I pledge all that I have, all I shall ever have, all that I am, all that I shall ever be for your protection and benefit, from now until the end of time."

The Warlock swirled his wand and said "Ic borgfaeste." Slowly, long strands of glowing cords extended from his wand and surrounded Hunter and Snape's hands with eight intertwined ropes of blue light. The cords continued up their arms to their shoulders and tightened against their clothes and skin, forming a complex series of twists and knots. The Warlock then raised his wand and a shower of stars covered the couple and the Binding cords were released, leaving behind deep impressions in their hands.

Mrs. Weasley dabbed at her eyes. "Lovely!"

The crowd held its breath as Snape leaned down to his new wife. She angled her head upwards, a smile growing. He placed the smallest of kisses on her lips, then drew away. A groan more audible than it should have been rippled through the crowd.

Snape whispered to her, "I wouldn't want to cause a spectacle, my love."

"Of course not," she replied, grinning.

The Warlock raised his arms, quieting the crowd. "May I present to you, the Potions Mistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Dr. Morgan Hunter-Snape…" Applause burst out.

"I'm surprised she's so traditional," Hermione whispered to Ginny. "I wasn't sure if she would change her name or not."

"At least she hyphenated it," Ginny replied. Hermione nodded.

The Warlock continued. "And her husband, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Professor Severus Hunter-Snape." A gasp rose from the crowd, followed by enthusiastic applause. Hats were thrown as flowers burst from every vines lining the walls, followed by a cloud of butterflies. All windows and doors flew open, as sunlight and warm breezes filled the room. The fireflies quickly exited back towards the dungeons. Showers of sparks from raised wands filled the air. Hunter placed her arm in Snape's and they proceeded as best they could towards the Entrance Hall, their progress impeded by hundreds of well-wishers, each of whom insisted on shaking their hands, clapping their shoulders, and generally making fools of themselves with their hearty congratulations as arcs of sparkles curves overhead.

Harry caught up with Ron who was groaning. "Hermione was just oozing over how progressive a wizard Snape is and how romantic it is that he took her name. Next thing you know she'll be picking out china patterns and children's names." Harry wondered what name Ginny would want to take. Harry Potter-Weasley? No need to decide now.

Snape and Hunter emerged from the Entrance Hall onto the grounds, then strolled arm in arm down to the reception following Flitwick's lead. The Quidditch pitch, being the only place with flat enough grounds on the campus, was strewn with tables and chairs, with a dance floor and a bandstand set up on one side. The flagpoles were adorned with alternating Slytherin and Ravenclaw banners, lifted by the gentle breezes.

Hunter turned to look at the crowd following them down the hillside. "Isn't it wonderful, Severus, to see so many people happy for you?" she said, squeezing his arm encouragingly.

Snape snorted dismissively. "Indeed. I was hoping to be the center of a crowd delighted by the prospect of a free meal and plentiful wine," he declared with his best sneer firmly in place. "But I think you, my dear, will find this rather changes your plans for the evening." He gave her a sly grin the meaning of which she wasn't quite certain.

Later in the evening, as he savored the last remnants of lamb and squash, Harry was deeply grateful that no one expected him to make a speech, as he hadn't prepared a thing for it. The toasts had been never-ending and probably emptied more than half the Hogwarts wine cellar, but Harry had only been required to lift a glass and say "To the bride and groom," before other guests rose to raise a glass and offer their own toasts. After a time, the toasts became more jovial and loose in tone, until several parents protested on behalf of their school-age children still present, despite the evening having come on. The boiling cauldrons of steaming and scented potions and pestles full of flowers the tables were set with had by now simmered down, as well.

Near 9:00pm, her feet aching from passing among so many tables to greet so many guests, Hunter had pulled Snape aside.

"Perhaps it's time to announce our departure," she stated with a grin, taking both his hands in hers.

"Nonsense." Snape released one of her hands, drew his wand and fired a Pedoamelio charm to her feet. "We haven't spoken with Kingsley Shacklebolt yet. To not greet the Minister of Magic would be a great insult and bad for the school. Shall we?" Her feet now much improved, off she went.

And so it went, for hours. "We simply MUST speak with our old friend Parse Winder and his lovely new wife;" "Why, the Cattermoles. I haven't seen them in years;" "Arboreus Hobble will be key to ever reducing my sentence, and his wife is expecting, so…;" "The Malfoys are old friends, and their son Draco seems to have found Janiss a very interesting conversationalist;" "Ernest MacMillan is the grandson of the Warlock that just married us, we simply must…"

Hunter had never seen Snape so social, nor had she prepared for their wedding day to become her own encyclopedia of every Magical family in Britain and parts of Europe. He seemed to know everyone, and everyone seemed to be connected to everyone else. "Mrs. Malfoy is connected by marriage to the MacMillans through her cousin and his great-grandfather on his mother's side. She was Melania Black;" "I knew this boy's father in school; he married into the Tonks family, cousins to the Blacks, but disowned;" "Harry has no idea Millicent Bulstrode is his third cousin; I simply haven't had the time to show him a proper family tree;" "Those are all Weasleys, the future of Magic, I suspect, the way they seem to reproduce like kneazles…"

"Severus!" Hunter said in exasperation. "It's past sundown. Surely it wouldn't be seen as rude for newly-weds to depart now?" She was amazed at just how long the longest day of summer in the Scottish Highlands was.

Snape grinned and patted her hand and said in a low, saccharine voice, "Isn't wonderful that so many people came to share our joyous occasion, my dear? Let's not disappoint." He pulled out his wand once again.

"My feet are fine!" she said snappishly, pulling her skirts around her ankles, as if that would block the spell. "Who's next? Second-cousins once removed from the Yaxleys?"

Snape put on a shocked face, his hand to his throat. "Goodness, no. They are still in Azkaban. Perhaps you meant their first cousins twice-removed; they are Neville Longbottom's grandparents. I'll introduce you once I can find them…" Hunter rolled her eyes and scanned the pitch, but it was getting more and more difficult to see in the twilight.

It was now full dark, well past 11:00pm. The PedoAmelio spell had finally worn off, her feet aching once again. She'd met at least 15, possible 20 Weasleys, more Black family relatives than she could count, and more Ministers, Deputy Ministers, Junior Ministers, Assistants to the Minister, and Undersecretaries to the Minister than she even knew existed, all of whom assured her that she'd married a fine wizard and hoped for a visit sometime in the following school year. She had eaten cake so long ago, she barely remembered the design (it was nine layers tall, each layer quartered into House colors). She'd toasted so many times, she was grateful she had begun early having only tastes; otherwise, she might have been unable to stand by now. Irritatingly, Severus seemed to have endless stamina, as though he'd saved up every ounce of sociability for the past 38 years for this one evening. At the next moment that they had to themselves, with no one hovering nearby looking for a small chat and no obvious target in the tall man's sights, Hunter gave his hand a tight squeeze.

"Severus!" Her voice was harsher than she meant it to be. She took a breath. She looked into the eyes of her husband, now regarding her with some amusement.

"Yes, my love. What is it?"

 _As if you don't already know!_ "The band packed up an hour ago, the children are sleeping at every table there is, and I don't see a single face whose genealogy I don't now know for at least three generations." Her face grew serious. "May we go now?" She tried unsuccessfully not to grit her teeth.

"Is there somewhere you'd rather be?" he asked with mock innocence as she seethed. "Other than surrounded by all our well-wishers who just want to share our happiness?"

Harry had collapsed at a table near the dance floor, his feet swollen and his knees aching. If Ginny had wanted dancing, she certainly had gotten enough of it tonight. Slow dances, fast dances, in-between dances. Traditional dances. He hoped he was done with dancing until at least Yuletide. Hermione and Ginny had just come back with Janiss, who was trailed by Draco Malfoy.

"Great music, eh Harry?" Draco drawled, his hand over Janiss's.

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"Mum says we need to go, so I'll just find Professor Snape and say goodnight. Come with me, Janiss?"

She stood with him and smiled, then started looking to find him and Aunt Morgan. "That's odd. I don't see them. They were just with the Minister of Magical Education a moment ago."

They all stood to look around. Luna caught sight of them, the Potions Mistress being carried off into the darkness of the forest, held in the arms of the Headmaster, her arms wrapped joyously around his neck and his legs moving at a run. She opted not to say a thing.


	50. Chapter 50: Ever After

**And after a mere 2 1/4 years, I complete my story. I hope you enjoy this. Let me know if you want more, by writing a review!**

 **Cheers,**

 **DN**

Hunter was awoken from a much-needed sound sleep. It was still full dark, with not the slightest glimmer of morning yet. She rolled over to admire her lover (husband, she reminded herself), his face illuminated by the light from a first quarter moon shining through the window and his aura, faint while asleep, his traditional blue. The quickening of her heart as she gazed upon him in the silence was familiar. Although she tried not to compare him to Phillipus, she couldn't help but think how pleased he would be that she'd found someone so steadfast and true. Occasionally devious, frequently sneaky, and certainly unpredictable, but always with good intent. She counted herself lucky to have found two fine wizards to call husband.

"Waquini," she whispered, touching him gently on the shoulder. His sleep was deep, and she found she needed to be a bit more aggressive with her touch to wake him.

He rolled toward her, his eyes still closed, arms reaching out to surround her in their warmth. He lay a sleepy kiss on her forehead. "Yes, my love. Why are you waking me so early?" His kisses began to move down her face to her neck and onward to her shoulders as he gently pulled aside the fabric of her nightshirt. His arm extended across her broad hips as he drew her closer, his warmth extending from her back to her toes. She swatted away his hand.

"Severus!" she said teasingly. "Even now?"

He drew back slightly, but kept her in a comforting embrace. "My dear," he said with mock aggrievement. "The most intelligent and beautiful witch of the age shares her bed with me and you expect me to simply lie here inert? Impossible."

She turned with a smile, then winced and drew in a sharp breath. His hand fell across her wide belly.

"Severus, it's time."

He began to be more fully awake, propping himself upon one elbow and regarding her with concern. "Isn't it a little soon? Are you sure?"

"It is sooner than I would have expected, but I am sure." He, too, could feel the tightening now as it gained in intensity.

"Alright then. I'll call for Sybill." He took a moment first to kiss his wife, holding her face in his hands, feeling that same sense of surprise that she was his and would be forever. Eternally Bound in marriage. To him. This witch of such uncommon distinction, talent and power, who could have chosen as her husband any number of wealthy, high-ranking Ministry officials, or an independent Potions research powerhouse in any institution in the world. Yet here she was, at a reasonably well-respected but not-yet-world class school, married to a skinny, homely professor of acutely modest means. Hunter was very quickly breathless.

"Severus, please, things are going to happen quickly," she said with mock reproach, followed by another kiss, this one initiated by her.

After a time, Hunter wriggled from his grasp and flicked her wand to light the candle on the wall sconce, which gave more of a glow to the room. "Where is Phillipus?"

"I assume in his room, where else would he be?"

"And Wulfie?"

"He's here next to me. That little pest crawled in again at some point." Snape rolled back over and lifted the sleeping boy to his shoulder. His head lolled over but was caught by his father's gentle hand and righted. He smacked his lips twice and put his arms around his father's neck. Snape kissed his son's soft, dark skin. He snapped his fingers and a house-elf appeared, dressed as Snape was in a warm night-shirt.

"Yes, Headmaster? Professor Hunter-Snape, is it time?"

"Yes, Caleigh, it is. Please fetch Professor Trelawney. She'll see after the boys until they can visit their new little brother or sister."

The house-elf hopped up and down a bit, beside herself with excitement. She squeaked "Oh, this is such wonderful news! This means I've won the betting pool for your delivery date! And if it's another boy, I'll also be in the winnings again! The odds on that are 10 to 1." Without another word, the house-elf disappeared with a small pop.

"What do you suppose the odds are on your delivering an elf or a goblin?" Snape said disgustedly, as he returned Wulfric to the large bed and pulled the sheet and blanket over him.

Hunter stood with some difficulty and began to find her shoes and a warm dressing gown. "I've heard there are bets out on names, as well, boys and girls. The most money has been put on 'Trey' if it's a boy and 'Eileen,' if it's a girl," she replied, as though this kind of speculation were perfectly normal.

"You know I detest being an object of rumors," he said testily, as he helped Hunter into the dressing gown she'd had chosen for the occasion and helped with her socks and shoes. "Do you want your hair braided, my dear?" he asked, drawing her hair back and kissing the neck that was now exposed.

She allowed the kiss to continue, as he drew his hands down around her round, extended belly. He suddenly drew his breath as he felt another contraction. Hunter grimaced. "Yes, please, and make it quick. The contractions are coming quicker now."

Trelawney arrived then, and took over the braiding while Snape offered Hunter a vial of Analgesiac Natale. Then he, too, quickly dressed, leaving more than a few buttons undone until later.

"Madame Pomfrey has a room ready for you by now," Trelawney said.

As Hunter went to wash her face, Snape turned to Sybill. "Thank you for helping with the … boys… Sybill. Perhaps you have some feeling about this child? Perhaps THIS child will be a girl?"

Trelawney blushed and looked away. "My visions aren't always complete, Severus. You know that. And I never claimed the girl in the vision was your first or only child. But you and Morgan are still young enough. If it's another boy, you can always try again."

Snape didn't know how to respond to that thought. He still held the image of the little girl with the long dark hair, holding his hand, pulling him through the waters, and calling him "daddy," close in his heart. He loved Phillie and Wulfie more than he could have imagined. To consider them simply a prelude to the intended daughter was absurd. A third child, regardless of sex, would be wonderful, because it would be an expression of his and Morgan's love. Still, a daughter would be nice. Especially one who looked a little more like him. If this child was a boy, well, who knows? They weren't as young as they once were, but the joy he took in his family would probably yield to one more. One thing at a time, he reminded himself. And it mattered how Morgan might feel, as well.

As Hunter emerged from the bathroom with a fresh face and relief from the potion evident, Snape bent down to place a kiss on Wulfric's forehead. The little boy looked so much like his older brother, who in turn looked so much like his mother. Beautiful, of course. He whispered in his ear. "By the time you wake up, you may have the little brother or sister you've been waiting for."

* * *

Hunter nearly crushed Snape's hand as she pushed, this third child coming more quickly than the previous two. Madame Pomfrey continued to coach her through the passage, with Madame Granger-Weasley on her other side. Snape uttered a spell he hadn't used since the days of the Carrows and took some of Hunter's pain on himself. The Analgesiac Natale potion was helpful, but not perfect. Now he, too could feel the pressure, the tension, the squeeze, coming in unstoppable, ever-increasing waves. Hunter turned to him and smiled her thanks until another wave broke over them. She clenched her teeth.

"I can see the head, it's nearly there. Probably two more good pushes to go," Madame Pomfrey said excitedly.

Hunter gripped Snape's hand and gave the great push her baby was demanding. Snape felt the wave and added what push he could, not knowing if the spell worked that way, but doing what he could, just in case.

"There's the head, now one more push for the shoulders and you'll be…"

Hunter groaned with the effort, gripping the bedrail and Snape's hand as though they were the obstacles in the way between her and her child. At last she felt the release as the child was fully delivered, a good strong cry sounding out. She rested her head back as Snape massaged his bruised hand. He wiped the sweat from her face with a cool cloth, spoke some cooling spells, then looked at Poppy expectantly, as she finished the delivery with her wand. Madame Granger-Weasley stayed with Hunter, monitoring her breathing, blood pressure, and other signs as Madame Pomfrey now focused on the newborn. She wrapped the tiny, squealing baby snuggly in a soft green blanket and dictated notes to the Assistant Medical Elf.

"Well, I see ten fingers, ten toes, a head of dark hair." They washed the baby and put it on the balance. "7 pounds 12 ounces, a good healthy size." The baby continued to shake its fist and fuss loudly. "A good set of lungs, as well."

"Anything else we should know, Madame Pomfrey?" Snape sneered.

Madame Pomfrey eyed the pair. "Good color, clear airways, no sign of jaundice. Let me take a few more measurements of body temperature and oxygenation…."

"Poppy!" Snape barked.

"What? Oh, yes, of course. It's a girl," she said with amusement in her eyes. "Which means I get 2:1 in the betting pool. Now if you name her Rowena, I win again."

* * *

Severus Snape held the hand of his daughter as they walked around the Black Lake. The leaves, russet, yellow, purple, and orange, rustled in the breezes, then fell, sending ripples across the surface of the water. The equinox was still more than a week away, bringing as it always did now, pleasant memories. The best midnight bluebells would have to wait until the equinox itself for maximum potency, but for today at the full moon, they would harvest wormwood and flobberworms.

Near the trailhead leading into the darkness of the forest, they stopped. The young girl tugged at her long, dark braid as she stood shifting from foot to foot. Snape was familiar enough with this prelude to difficult questions, but knew better than to try to hurry her or draw out the question. She was not one to allow herself to be drawn out if she didn't wish to be. More often than not, she would simply withdraw until the time suited her, if ever. So he waited, simply being in her presence until she was ready. The night was coming on, a time when she always wanted to be with him, after dinner. By now, the students had exited the Great Hall and were now immersed in study hall, the library, or detentions for the bullies.

"Daddy, did you ever wish to die?" she asked, not looking at him. She stared over the surface of the waters, scanning for evidence of the squid and her family. Sightings were becoming fewer as the waters, still somewhat warm from the summer, had begun to cool.

Snape was taken aback and worried about such a question from so young a girl. But honesty was important and the world was complex. "Yes," he said. "Why do you ask?"

"Well," she said hesitantly. "Sometimes….when you're asleep, and I wake up and crawl into bed with you and mummy, I dream with you."

"You dream with me. What's that like?" he asked, preparing for the answer.

"Sometimes I just know that I'm in your dream and not mine anymore. It looks different. I'm taller and I feel different."

"How do you get there in the first place?" he asked evenly, trying not to reveal any agitation. He would need to talk to her very soon about how to control her Legilimency and about what kinds of restraint was expected from other on this power.

"I don't know, I just sort of snuggle up, then breathe with you for a while, then there's this kind blue wave, like at the beach. Once I get back above the wave, sometimes I'm in your dream instead of mine."

"How long has this been going on?"

"Since earlier this summer in Sedona, I think. At least that's the first time I think it happened. Remember when we were up really late celebrating Solstice? In the Stone Circle? I fell asleep in your lap. In the morning you were dreaming about me, and I was there, but I was you instead of me. At first I wasn't sure what I was dreaming, but after a few other times, I figured it out."

"You are a very clever and very Magical girl, Charity." He was certainly impressed with her Magic. Even now, at the age of 7, she could identify nearly 20 Magical plants, about 15 Magical insects, and knew where to find most of them. Even without a wand, she could Summon flies and bats when she wanted to. He needed to find her a child's wand soon, as well as a broom, he thought, adding up the likely expense. This on top of the school supplies he'd purchased for Phillie for this fall. Perhaps the school had something, or perhaps the boys hadn't yet destroyed theirs completely. A Reparo or two might be in order. She was likely to try to boys' larger brooms, if they ever left them idle for her. She rarely waited to be shown how to do something before trying it herself. Now that Phillie had started classes at Hogwarts, she was becoming even more impatient to do what her older brothers were doing. Poppy and Hermione had been invaluable these past few years as she began to test herself more and more.

"Do you ever dream with Mummy?" she asked, still not meeting his eyes.

"No, not unless I ask her first and she lets me. I did that once without her permission and she nearly cracked my brain." He winced involuntarily, remembering her punishment for his indiscretion.

Charity finally smiled and giggled. "Mummy kicked you out!" She then turned serious again and looked out over the lake and the darkening forest. "Was that why you wanted to die?"

"No, your mummy is why I wanted to live. And you."

"So why did you want to die? In your dreams sometimes, you fall into the lake and you are letting yourself drown and I have to save you. And I'm small, just like now, and you're big, just like now, but I am pulling you out." She turned and looked up at him accusingly. "I know you can swim just fine."

Snape looked out across the waters and felt the coolness of the gathering darkness. Soon it would be time to take their walk into the forest and gather plants and creatures, or else it would be too late for a seven-year old. Charity was already good at finding mushrooms and picking the better shoots of asphodel. And clearly her Legilimens talents were frightening. She would need to learn how to control her skill.

Snape found a broad stump and sat down. "Charity, would you like to try to dream with me now? I can show you, but it won't be fun."

"I'm not sure," she said. She sat beside him and looked up, a mixture of both curiosity and apprehension clouding her dark eyes.

"I thought you might not want to," he said reassuringly, patting her leg and making to stand again. "That's fine."

"No, I want to, I knew it wouldn't be fun. I meant I'm not sure I can do it awake."

"We can just sit here and wait. I'll let you in if you can find a way."

She squinched up her eyes in concentration and grunted. He knew this was trying too hard, but she'd need to figure it out on her own. Her breathing became more regular and her face relaxed.

He made himself as open as he could to her, tapped on her consciousness a little, until she was there. He first showed her him at her age, Magical, sharing the secrets with his mother. Then alone and afraid. His later childhood, spent hungry and neglected, desperately wanting the love he'd lost to be returned once more. Being bullied at school ("He looks like Uncle Harry." "Yes, he does."). Losing the love of his red-haired friend. Being angry at everything and everyone. Hiding deep within himself until he wasn't sure who he was anymore. Lots of fighting, pain, but no love. Then finally being released and seeing no future.

Charity sat for a long time on the stump with her father. She wondered if there were children right now feeling like her father felt when he was small. She couldn't imagine it before tonight, having a mother and father who ignored or disliked you, no brothers or sisters, just being alone all the time, whether you wanted that or not. She hoped his was a very strange family, but supposed that it might still happen sometimes.

"Is that why you make bullies go to detention? Because there were bullies when you were little?"

"No, that's why I made sure even very poor families can send their children to Hogwarts and why I make sure everyone here is looked after. For some students, Hogwarts is home, and the other students and staff become their family. Some of those bullies come from homes where love is hard to come by, and they need correction, but with the intent that they do better next time. The desire for love which is denied can become a desire for power, the power to make others do things in the hope that power can make someone love you. But love doesn't work that way. Love isn't something you can demand or expect."

"How does love work?" She would have information at 7 that he'd taken nearly 4 decades to learn. He would need to be sure he had this conversation with the other children, as well.

"You must simply give love yourself, with no expectation of return."

"And you wanted to die because your love was never returned?"

"I wanted to die because I'd lost hope. I believed that I would never have love, that it wasn't possible for anyone to love me. I nearly lost the love of your mother because I wasn't ready to give love, not wanting to give love that I felt certain wouldn't be returned. Everyone will lose love eventually, but if you believe you will never have love, have no hope for love, it is difficult to find a good reason to keep living."

The young witch started to fidget. The hour was getting late and there was little light left before full dark. Mushrooms awaited, both for potions and dinner tomorrow. She was good, but not expert, at getting the right ones for the right purpose. He stood, sample case in hand, his other offered to her. She took and stood herself.

"Ami wants to come next time," Charity said, matching his stride into the shadows of the forest. "She threw a fit when Mummy said she was too young."

"Is Amanita too young? How old does she need to be?"

"She should be at least 5, maybe even 6. She's not very quiet, you know. She'll scare away every flobberworm, then we'll have none. Phillie and Wulfie can play with her."

"Maybe she gets tired of their little jinxes, and not everyone like Quidditch. She's a little young even for Junior Gobstones. She probably just wants to spend time with her sister."

Charity bent down suddenly and pulled over a rock to reveal a thriving colony of flobberworms, their slimy bodies glistening in the last bit of sunlight. Snape withdrew a large jar and together they filled it, tossing in additional leaves to tide them over until the colony could be established in the lab.

"Do you think Mummy's new baby will be a girl, so Ami has another sister to bother instead of me?"

Snape grinned down at his older daughter, hands covered in dirt and flobberworm mucus. Boy or girl, Snape was certain that the new child would only add to the circle of joy he'd found with Morgan Hunter. He extended his hand to her and hauled her up to standing, then turned his attention to locating some good wormwood before it got too late.


End file.
